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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


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I-|ALF-J-[OURS  YV'1™  JIMMIEBOY 

BY 

JOHN   KENDRICK  BANGS, 


AUTHOR    OF 


"  Tiddledywink  Tales,"  "In  Camp  with  a   Tin  Soldier •," 
"  Tiddledywink  Poetry  Book,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

FRANK   VERBECK,  CHARLES    HOWARD   JOHNSON, 

J.  T.  RICHARDS,  P.  NEWELL, 

AND   OTHERS. 


NEW   YORK: 

R.   H.    RUSSELL    &   SON, 
MDCCCXCIII, 


COPYRIGHT,  1893. 
BY    JOHN    KENDRICK    BANGS. 


TO  MY  SON, 
FRANCIS    HYDE    BANGS. 


r<*  du<?  to  /Messrs.  \4arper  9  Bros,  for  tl?e 
privilege  of  re-priptip^  ^everal  of  tl?e 
storie^  ip  tlpis  booK- 


CONTENTS. 


1.  CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  JIMMIEBOY'S, n 

2.  THE  DWARF  AND  THE  DUDE  GIANT,  ....  24 

3.  JIMMIEBOY'S  DREAM  POETRY, 35 

4.  A  SUBTERRANEAN  MUTINY, 48 

5.  JlMMIEBOY  IN  THE  LIBRARY, 60 

6.  JIMMIEBOY'S  SNOWMAN, 72 

7.  THE  BICYCLOP/EDIA  BIRD, 85 

8.  GIANT  THE  JACK  KILLER, 100 

9.  JlMMIEBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS, IOQ 

10.  JIMMIEBOY'S  PHOTOGRAPH, 124 

11.  JlMMIEBOY  AND  THE  BLANK-BOOK, I32 

12.  JlMMIEBOY  AND  THE  COMET,          .....  146 

13.  JlMMIEBOY  AND  JACK  FROST, I56 

14.  JlMMIEBOY    AND   THE    GAS-STOVE,                           i  l68 

15.  IN  THE  HEART  OF  FROSTLAND, 183 

16.  THE  END  OF  THE  STORY 201 


I. 

CHRISTMAS    EVE    AT    JIMMIEBOY's. 

IT  had  been  a  long  and  trying  day  to  Jimmie- 
boy,  as  December  24th  usually  is  to  children 
of  his  age,  who  have  great  expectations,  and  are 
more  or  less  impatient  to  have  them  fulfilled. 
He  had  been  positively  cross  at  supper-time 
because  his  father  had  said  that  Santa  Glaus 
had  written  to  say  that  a  much-desired  veloci- 
pede could  not  be  got  down  through  the  chimney, 
and  that  he  thought  Jimmieboy  would  have 
to  wait  until  the  chimneys  had  been  enlarged, 
or  his  papa  had  built  a  new  house  with  more 
commodious  flues. 

"I  think  it's  just  too  bad,"  said  Jimmieboy,  as 
he  climbed  into  bed  an  hour  later.  "Just  be- 
cause those  chimneys  are  small,  I  can't  have  a 
philocipede,  and  I've  been  gooder  than  ever 
for  two  weeks,  just  to  get  it. " 

Ihen,  as  his  nurse  extinguished  the  lamp  and 
went  into  the  adjoining  room  to  sew,  Jimmieboy 


12  HALF- HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

threw  himself  back  upon  his  pillow  and  shed  a 
tear.  The  tear  crept  slowly  down  over  his  cheek, 
and  was  about  to  disappear  between  his  lips  and 
go  back  again  to  where  it  had  started  from, 
when  a  voice  was  heard  over  by  the  fire-place. 

"Can  you  get  it  down?"  it  said. 

Jimmieboy  sat  up  and  peered  over  toward  the 
spot  whence  the  voice  came,  but  could  see  noth- 
ing. 

"No.  The  hind  wheels  won't  go  through  the 
chimney-pot,  and  even  if  they  would,  it  wouldn't 
do  any  good.  The  front  wheel  is  twice  as  big  as 
the  hind  ones,"  said  another  voice,  this  one  ap- 
parently belonging  to  some  one  on  the  roof. 
"Can't  you  get  it  in  through  the  front  door?" 

"What  do  you  take  me  for— an  expressman?" 
cried  the  voice  at  the  fire-place.  "I  can't  leave 
things  that  way.  It  wouldn't  be  the  proper  thing. 
Can't  you  get  a  smaller  size  through?" 

"Yes;  but  will  it  fit  the  boy?"  said  the  voice 
on  the  roof, 

"Lower  your  lantern  down  here  and  we'll  see. 
He's  asleep  over  here  in  a  brass  bedstead,"  re- 
plied the  other. 

And  then  Jimmieboy  saw  a  great  red  lantern 
appear  in  the  fire-place,  and  by  its  light  he 
noticed  a  short,  ruddy-faced,  merry-eyed  old 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  JIMMIEBOY'S.        13 

gentleman,  with  a  snowy  beard  and  a  smile,  tip- 
toeing across  the  room  toward  him.  To  his  de- 
light he  recognized  him  at  once  as  Santa  Glaus; 
but  he  didn't  know  whether  Santa  Glaus  would 
like  to  have  him  see  him  or  not,  so  he  closed  his 
eyes  as  tightly  as  he  could,  and  pretended  to  be 
asleep. 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Santa  Glaus,  as  he 
leaned  over  Jimmieboy's  bed,  and  tried  to  get 
his  measure  by  a  glance.  "He's  almost  a  man- 
must  be  five  years  old  by  this  time.  Pretty  big 
for  a  small  velocipede;  still,  I  don't  know." 
Here  he  scratched  his  beard  and  sang : 

"If  he's  too  large  for  it,  I  think, 

'Twill  be  too  small  for  him, 
Unless  he  can  be  got  to  shrink 
Two  inches  on  each  limb." 

Then  he  walked  back  to  the  fire-place  and 
called  out,  "I've  measured." 

"  Well,  what's  the  result?"  queried  the  voice  on 
the  roof. 

"  'Nothing,'  as  the  boy  said  when  he  was  asked 
what  two  plus  one  minus  three  amounted  to. 
I  can't  decide.  It  will  or  it  won't,  and  that's  all 
there  is  about  it." 

"Can't  we  try  it  on  him?"  asked  the  voice  up 
the  chimney. 


14  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"No,"  returned  Santa  Glaus.  "That  wouldn't 
prove  anything;  but  we  might  try  him  on  it. 
Shall  I  send  him  up?" 

"Yes,"  came  the  voice  from  above,  much  to 
Jimmieboy's  delight,  for  he  was  quite  curious  to 
see  what  was  going  on  up  on  the  roof,  and  who 
it  was  that  owned  the  other  voice. 

In  a  moment  Jimmieboy  found  himself  in 
Santa  Claus's  arms,  cuddled  up  to  the  warm  fur 
coat  the  dear  old  gentleman  wore,  in  which 
position  he  was  carried  up  through  the  chimney 
flue  to  the  roof.  Then  Jimmieboy  peeped  out  be- 
tween his  half-opened  eyelids,  and  saw,  much  to 
his  surprise,  that  instead  of  there  being  only  one 
Santa  Glaus,  there  were  two  of  them. 

"Oh  dear!"  he  said  in  astonishment;  "I  didn't 
know  there  were  two  of  you." 

Both  the  Santas  jumped  as  if  some  one  had  let 
off  a  cannon  cracker  under  their  very  noses. 

"Well,  I  declare !"  said  the  one  that  had  carried 
Jimmieboy  up  through  the  chimney.  "We're 
discovered.  Here  I've  been  in  this  business  whole 
centuries,  and  I've  never  been  discovered  before." 

"That's  so,"  assented  the  other.  "We  know 
now  how  America  must  have  felt  when  Colum- 
bus came  sailing  in.  What '11  we  do  about  it?" 

"We'll  have  to  take  him  into  partnership,  I 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  JIMMIEBOY'S.         15 

guess,"  rejoined  the  first.  "It'll  never  do  in  this 
world  not  to.  Would  you  like  to  be  one  of  our 
concern,  Jimmieboy?" 

"Oh,  indeed  I  would,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"  Well,  I  say  we  let  him  help  us  this  time  any- 
how," said  the  roof  Santa  Glaus,  "You're  so  fat, 
I'm  afraid  you  can't  get  down  some  of  these 
small  chimneys,  and  Jimmieboy  is  just  about  the 
right  size." 

"Good  scheme,"  said  the  other;  "but  he  isn't 
dressed  for  it,  you  know." 

"He  can  get  a  nice  black  soot  down  in  the  fac- 
tory chimney,"  said  the  roof  Santa  Glaus,  with 
a  wink. 

"That's  so;  and  as  the  factory  fires  are  always 
going,  it  will  be  a  nice  warm  soot.  What  do  you 
say,  Jimmieboy?"  said  the  other. 

"It's  lovely,"  replied  the  boy.  "But  how  did 
there  come  to  be  two  of  you?" 

"There  had  to  be,"  said  the  first  Santa  Glaus 
Jimmieboy  had  seen.  "The  world  is  growing  so 
fast  that  my  work  has  nearly  doubled  in  the  last 
twenty  years,  so  I  had  to  get  an  assistant,  and 
he  did  so  well,  I  took  him  into  partnership.  He's 
my  brother." 

"And  is  his  name  Santa  Glaus,  too?"  asked 
Jimmieboy. 


16  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Oh  no,  indeed.  His  name  is  Marmaduke.  We 
call  him  Marmy  for  short,  and  I  can  tell  you 
what  it  is,  Jimmieboy, 

"  He  is  as  fine  a  fellow 

As  ever  you  did  spy  ; 
He's  quite  as  sweet  and  mellow, 
Though  not  so  fat  as  I." 

"And  that's  a  recommendation  that  any  man 
has  a  right  to  bo  proud  of,"  said  Marmy  Glaus, 
patting  himself  on  the  back  to  show  how  proud 
he  felt.  "But,  Santa,  we  must  be  off.  It  would 
not  do  for  the  new  firm  of  Santa,  Marmy,  and 
Jimmie  Glaus  to  begin  business  by  being  late. 
We've  got  to  leave  toys  in  eighteen  flat-houses, 
forty-two  hotels,  and  an  orphan  asylum  yet." 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  Santa,  jumping  into  the 
sleigh  and  grasping  the  reins.  "  Just  help  Jim- 
mieboy in  here,  Marmy,  and  we'll  be  off.  We 
can  leave  his  things  here  on  our  way  back." 

Then,  before  he  knew  how  it  happened,  Jim- 
mieboy found  himself  wrapped  up  warmly  in  a 
great  fur  coat,  with  a  seal-skin  cap  on  his  head, 
and  the  dearest,  warmest  ear-tabs  over  his  ears, 
sitting  in  the  middle  of  the  sleigh  between  the 
two  huge,  jolly-faced,  members  of  the  Glaus 
family.  The  long  lash  of  the  whip  snapped  in 
the  frosty  air,  at  the  sound  of  which  the 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  JIMMIEBOY' S. 


17 


sprang  forward  and  dragged  the  toy-laden  cutter 
off  on  its  aerial  flight. 

At  the  start  Santa  drove,  and  Marmy  prepared 
the  toys  for  the  first  little  boy  they  were  to  visit, 
handing  Jimmieboy  a  lot  of  sugar-plums,  to 
keep  him  from  getting  hungry,  before  he  began. 


JIMMIKBOY  AND  THE  BROTHERS  CLAUS. 

"This  is  a  poor  sick  little  fellow  we  are  going 
to  see  first,"  he  said.  "He  wanted  a  set  of  choo- 
choo  cars,  but  we  can't  give  them  to  him  because 
the  only  set  we  have  is  for  you,  Jimmieboy. 
Your  application  came  in  before  his  did.  I  hope 
he  won't  be  disappointed,  though  I  am  afraid  he 


18  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

will  be.  A  fish-pond  isn't  half  so  much  fun  as  a 
set  of  choo-choo  cars." 

"That's  so,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "But,  Mr. 
Marmy,  perhaps,  if  it's  going  to  make  him  feel 
real  bad  not  to  get  them — maybe— perhaps  you 
might  let  him  have  the  cars.  I  don't  want  them 
too  much."  This  wasn't  quite  true,  but  Jimmie- 
boy, somehow  or  other,  didn't  like  to  think  of 
the  little  sick  boy  waking  up  on  Christmas  day 
and  not  finding  what  he  wanted.  "You  know, 
I  have  one  engine  and  a  coal  car  left  of  my  old 
set,  and  I  guess  maybe,  perhaps,  I  can  make 
them  do,"  he  added. 

Marmy  gave  the  little  fellow  an  affectionate 
squeeze,  and  said :  "  Well,  if  you  really  feel  that 
way,  maybe  we  had  better  leave  the  cars  there. 
Eh,  Santa?" 

"Maybe,  perhaps,"  said  Santa. 

And  it  so  happened;  and  although  he  could 
not  tell  exactly  why,  Jimmieboy  felt  happier 
after  leaving  the  cars  at  the  little  sick  boy's 
house  than  he  ever  thought  he  could  be. 

"Now,  Jimmieboy,"  said  Santa,  as  Marmy  took 
the  reins  and  they  drove  off  again,  "  while  Marmy 
and  I  are  attending  to  the  hotels  and  flat-houses, 
we  want  you  to  take  that  brown  bag  and  go  down 
the  chimney  of  the  orphan  asylum,  and  leave 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  JIMMIEBOY'S.         19 

one  toy  for  each  little  child  there.  There  are 
about  a  hundred  little  orphans  to  be  provided  for." 

"What's  orphans?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"  Orphans?  Why,  they  are  poor  little  boys  and 
girls  without  any  papas  and  mammas,  and  they 
all  have  to  live  together  in  one  big  house.  You'll 
see  'em  fast  asleep  in  their  little  white  cots  when 
you  get  down  the  chimney,  and  you  must  be  very 
careful  not  to  wake  them  up." 

"I'll  try  not  to,"  said  Jimmieboy,  softly,  a 
lump  growing  up  in  his  throat  as  he  thought  of 
the  poor  children  who  had  no  parents.  "And  I'll 
make  sure  they  all  get  something,  too." 

"That's  right,"  said  Marmy.  "^nd  here's 
where  they  live.  You  take  the  bag  now,  and 
we'll  let  you  down  easy,  and  when  we  get 
through;  we'll  come  back  for  you." 

So  Jimmieboy  shouldered  the  bag  full  of  toys, 
and  was  lowered  through  the  chimney  into  the 
room  where  the  orphans  were  sleeping.  He  was 
surprised  to  find  how  light  the  bag  was,  and  he 
was  almost  afraid  there  would  not  be  enough 
toys  to  go  around ;  but  there  were,  as  he  found 
out  in  a  moment.  There  were  more  than  enough 
by  at  least  a  dozen  of  the  most  beautiful  toys 
he  had  ever  seen — just  the  very  things  he  would 
most  have  liked  to  have  himself. 


20  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"I  just  guess  I'll  give  'em  one  of  these  things 
apiece,  and  keep  the  extra  ones,  and  maybe  per- 
haps they'll  be  for  me,"  he  said. 

So  he  arranged  the  toys  quietly  under  the  stock- 
ings that  hung  at  the  foot  of  the  little  white  beds, 
stuffing  the  stockings  themselves  with  candies 


JTMMIEBOYTN  THE  ORPHAN  ASYLUM. 

and  apples  and  raisins  and  other  delicious  things 
to  eat,  and  then  sat  down  by  the  fire-place  to 
await  the  return  of  Santa  Glaus  and  Santa's 
brother  Marmy.  As  he  sat  there  he  looked 
around  the  dimly  lighted  room,  and  saw  the 


CHRISTMAS  EVB  AT  JIMMIEBOrS.        21 

poor  thin  white  faces  of  the  little  sleeping  or- 
phans, and  his  heart  stirred  with  pity  for  their 
sad  condition.  Then  he  looked  at  the  bag  again, 
and  saw  the  extra  dozen  toys  that  were  so  pleas- 
ing to  him,,  and  he  wondered  if  it  would  make 
the  orphans  happier  next  morning  if  they  should 
wake  and  find  them  there,  too.  At  first  he  wasn't 
sure  but  that  the  orphans  had  enough;  and  then 
he  thought  of  his  own  hamper  full  of  dolls,  and 
dogs,  and  tin  soldiers,  and  cars,  and  blocks,  at 
home,  and  he  tried  to  imagine  how  much  fun  he 
could  get  out  of  a  single  toy,  and  he  couldn't 
quite  bring  himself  to  believe  that  he  could  get 
much. 

"One  toy  is  great  fun  for  an  hour,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  but  for  a  year,  dear  me !  I  guess  I 
won't  keep  them,  after  all.  I'll  just  put  them  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  so  that  they'll  find 
them  in  the  morning,  and  maybe  perhaps— 
Hello!"  he  added,  as  he  took  the  extra  toys  out 
of  the  bag ;  "they  were  for  me.  after  all.  They've 
got  my  name  on  'em.  Oh,  dear!  isn't  it  love— 
I  don't  know,  though.  Seems  to  me  I'd  better 
leave  them  here,  even  if  they  are  for  me.  I  can 
get  along  without  them  because  I  have  a  papa 
to  play  with,  and  he's  more  fun  than  any  toy  I 
ever  had ;  and  mamma's  better'n  any  doll  baby 


22  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

or  choo-choo  car  I  ever  saw.     Yes,  I   will   leave 
them." 

And  the  little  fellow  was  true  to  his  purpose. 
He  emptied  the  bag  to  the  very  last  toy,  and 
then,  hearing  the  tinkling  bolls  of  Santa's  sleigh 
on  the  roof  again,  he  ran  to  the  chimney,  and 
was  hauled  up  by  his  two  new  friends  to  the 
roof. 

"  Why,  you've  left  every  tiling  except  the  bag !" 
cried  Marmy,  as  Jimmieboy  climbed  into  the 
sleigh. 

"Yes,"  said  Jimmieboy,  with  a  little  sigh; 
"everything." 

"But  the  bag  had  all  your  things  in  it,  and  we 
haven't  a  toy  or  a  sugar-plum  left  for  you,"  said 
Santa. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I  don't  care 
much.  I've  had  this  ride  with  you,  and — al- 
together I'm — pret — ty  well — satis — fi— 

Here  the  little  assistant  to  the  Glaus  brothers, 
lulled  by  the  jingling  of  the  bells,  fell  asleep. 

It  was  morning  when  he  waked  again — Christ- 
mas morning— and  as  he  opened  his  eyes  he 
found  himself  back  in  his  little  crib,  pondering 
over  the  mysterious  experiences  of  the  night. 
His  heart  was  strangely  light  and  happy  even 
for  him,  especially  when  he  thought  of  the  little 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  JIMMIEBOY^S.        23 

orphan  children,  and  tried  to  imagine  their  hap- 
piness on  waking  and  finding  the  extra  toys — his 
toys — in  addition  to  their  own;  and  as  he 
thought  about  it,  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  chim- 
ney-place, and  an  unexpected  sight  met  his  gaze, 
for  there  stood  the  much-wished-for  velocipede, 
and  grouped  around  it  on  the  floor  were  a  beauti- 
ful set  of  choo-choo  cars  exactly  like  those  he 
had  left  with  the  sick  boy,  and  a  duplicate  of 
every  one  of  the  extra  toys  he  had  left  at  the 
asylum  for  the  orphans. 

"They  must  have  been  playing  a  joke  on  me," 
he  cried,  in  delighted  tones,  as  he  sprang  out  of 
bed  and  rushed  over  to  where  the  toys  lay.  "I 
do  believe  they  left  them  here  while  I  was  in  the 
asylum.  The — dear — old — things!" 

And  then  Jimmieboy  was  able  to  measure  the 
delight  of  the  orphan  children  and  the  little  suf- 
ferer by  comparing  it  with  his  own ;  and  when 
he  went  to  bed  that  night,  he  whispered  in  his 
mamma's  ear  that  he  didn't  know  for  sure,  but 
he  thought  that  if  the  orphans  only  had  a  papa 
and  a  mamma  like  his,  they  would  certainly  be 
the  happiest  little  children  in  all  the  world. 


HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 


II 
THE  DWARF  AND  THE  DUDE    GIANT. 

THE  day  had  not  yet  dawned,  but  Jimmieboy 
was  awake  -  wide  awake.  So  wide  awake 
was  he,  indeed,  that  the  small  bed  in  which  he 
had  passed  the  night  was  not  broad  enough  by 
some  ten  or  twelve  feet  to  accommodate  the 
breadth  of  his  wakefulness,  and  he  had  in  conse- 
quence crawled  over  into  his  father's  bed,  seated 
himself  as  nearly  upon  his  father's  neck  as  was 
possible,  and  was  vociferouslv  demanding  a 
story. 

"Oh,  wait  a  little  while,  Jimmieboy,"  said  his 
father,  wearily.  "I'm  sound  asleep — can't  you 
see?" 

"Tell  a  story,"  said  Jimmieboy.  poking  his 
thumbs  into  his  father's  half  closed  eyes. 

The  answer  was  a  snore — not  a  real  one,  but 
one  of  those  imitation  snores  that  fathers  of 


THE  DWARF  AND  THE  DUDE  GIANT.      25 

boys  like  Jimmieboy  make  use  of  on  occasions  of 
this  sort,  prompted  no  doubt  by  the  maker's  de- 
sire to  convince  a  persistent  enemy  to  sleep  that 
his  cause  is  hopeless,  and  of  which  the  enemy  is 
never  to  be  convinced. 

"Tell  a  story  about  a  Giant,"  insisted  Jimmie- 
boy, a  suggestion  of  tears  in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  well,"  returned  the  sleepy  father,  sitting 
up  and,  rubbing  his  eyes  vigorous^  in  a  vain  ef- 
fort to  get  all  the  sleepiness  out  of  them.  "  If 
you  must  have  it,  you  must  have  it,  so  here  goes. 
Let's  see — a  story  of  a  Giant  or  of  a  Dwarf?" 

"Both,"  said  Jimmieboy,  placidly. 

"Dear  me!"  cried  his  father.  "I  wish  I'd  kept 
quiet  about  the  Dwarf.  Well,  once  upon  a  time 
there  was  a  Giant." 

"And  a  Dwarf,  too,"  put  in  Jimmieboy,  who 
did  not  intend  to  be  cheated  out  of  a  half  of  the 
story. 

"Yes.  And  a  Dwarf,  too,"  said  the  other  with 
a  nod.  "The  Giant  was  a  Dude  Giant,  who  cared 
more  for  his  hats  than  he  did  for  an 3- thing  else 
in  the  world.  It  was  quite  natural,  too,  that  he 
should,  for  he  had  a  finer  chance  to  show  them 
off  than  most  people  have,  because  he  had  no 
less  than  four  heads,  which  is  very  remarkable 
for  a  Dude  Giant,  because  dudes  who  are  not 


26  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMlEBOY. 

giants  very  rarely  have  even  one  head  worth 
mentioning.  Hats  were  about  the  only  things 
the  Dude  Giant  cared  for  at  all.  He  used  to  buy 
every  style  of  head-gear  lie  could  find,  and  it 
took  almost  all  of  the  salary  he  received  at  the 
Museum  where  he  was  on  exhibition  to  pay  for 
them;  but  he  was  particularly  fond  of  silk  hats. 
Of  these  he  had  twenty-eight ;  four  for  each  day 
of  the  week,  those  for  Sunday  being  especially 
handsome  and  costly. 

"  Now  it  happened  that  in  the  same  exhibition 
with  the  Dude  Giant  there  was  a  Dwarf  named 
Tiny  W.  Littlejohn —  W  standing  for  Wee, 
which  was  his  middle  name.  He  was  a  very 
good-natured  fellow,  Tiny  was,  and  as  far  as  he 
knew  he  hadn't  an  enemy  in  the  world.  He  was 
so  very  nice  that  everybody  who  came  to  the  ex- 
hibition brought  him  cream  cakes,  and  picture 
books,  and  roller  skates,  and  other  beautiful 
things,  and  nobody  ever  thought  of  going  away 
without  buying  his  photograph,  paying  him 
twenty-five  cents  extra  for  the  ones  with  his 
autograph  on,  which  his  mother  wrote  for  him. 
In  this  way  the  Dwarf  soon  grew  to  be  a  million- 
aire, while  the  Dude  Giant  squandered  all  he 
had  on  riotous  hats,  and  so  remained  as  poor  as 
when  he  started.  For  a  long  time  everything 


THE  DWARF  AND  THE  DUDE  GIANT.      27 

went  smoothly  at  the  Exhibition.  There  were 
110  jealousies  or  quarrels  of  any  sort,  except  be- 
tween the  Glass  Eater  and  the  man  who  made 
Glass  Steamboats,  and  that  was  smoothed  over 
in  a  very  short  time  by  the  Glass  Eater  saying 
that  the  Glass-blower  made  the  finest  crystal  pies 
he  had  ever  tasted.  But  contentment  and  peace 
could  not  last  forever  in  an  establishment  where 
one  attraction  was  growing  richer  and  richer 
every  day  as  the  Dwarf  was,  while  another,  the 
Dude  Giant,  was  no  better  off  than  the  day  he 
joined  the  show,  and  when  finally  the  Dwarf  be- 
gan to  come  every  morning  in  a  cab  of  his  own, 
drawn  by  a  magnificent  gray  horse  with  a 
banged  tail,  and  to  dress  better  even  than  the 
proprietor  of  the  Museum  himself,  the  Dude 
Giant  became  very  envious,  and  when  the  Dude 
Giant  gets  envious  he  is  a  very  disagreeable  per- 
son. For  instance,  when  no  one  was  looking  he 
would  make  horrible  faces  at  Tiny,  contorting 
his  four  mouths  and  noses  and  eight  cheeks 
all  at  once  in  a  very  terrifying  manner,  and 
when  he'd  look  cross-eyed  at  the  Dwarf  with 
all  eight  of  his  eyes  poor  Tiny  would  get  so 
nervous  that  he  would  try  to  eat  the  roller 
skates  and  picture  books,  instead  of  the  cream 
cakes  people  brought  him,  and  on  one  occasion 


28  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

he  broke  cwo  of  his  prettiest  teeth  doing  it, 
which  marred  his  personal  appearance  very 
much. 

"Tiny  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  he 
complained  to  his  friend,  the  Whirlwind,  about 
it,  and  the  Whirlwind,  who  was  a  very  sensible 
sort  of  a  fellow,  advised  him  not  to  mind  it.  It 
was  only  jealousy,  he  said,  that  led  the  Dude 
Giant  to  behave  that  way,  and  if  Tiny  had  not 
been  more  successful  than  Forepate— as  the 
Dude  Giant  was  called— Forepate  wouldn't  have 
been  jealous,  so  that  his  very  jealousy  was  an 
acknowledgment  of  inferiority.  So  Tiny  made 
up  his  mind  he  wouldn't  pay  any  attention  to 
the  Dude  Giant  at  all,  but  would  go  right  ahead 
minding  his  own  business  and  making  all  the 
money  he  could. 

"  This  made  Forepate  all  the  more  angry,  and 
finally  he  resolved  to  get  even  with  the  Dwarf 
in  some  other  way  than  by  making  grimaces  at 
him.  Now,  it  happened  that  Forepate's  place 
was  over  by  a  window  directly  opposite  to  where 
the  Dwarf  sat,  and  so,  to  get  near  enough  to  Tiny 
to  put  his  scheme  against  him  into  execution,  he 
complained  to  the  manager  that  there  was  a 
terrible  draft  from  the  window,  and  added  that 
unless  he  could  sit  on  the  other  side  of  the  room 


THE  DWARF  AND  THE  DUDE  GIANT.      29 

he  was  certain  he'd  catch  cold  in  three  of  his 
heads  anyhow,  if  not  in  all  of  them. 

"'Very  well,'  said  the  manager.  'Where  do 
you  wish  to  sit?' 

"  'You  might  put  me  next  to  Littlejohn,  over 
there,'  said  the  head  with  red  hair. 

"'But,' said  the  manager,  'what  shall  we  do 
with  that-stuffed  owl  with  .the  unicorn's  horns?' 

"'Put  him  by  the  window,'  said  another  of  the 
Dude  Giant's  heads. 

"'Yes, 'said  the  third  head.  'No  draft  in  all 
the  world  could  give  a  stuffed  owl  a  cold.' 

"'That's  so,'  replied  the  manager.  'We'll 
make  the  change  right  off.' 

-And  then  the  change  was  made,  though  Tiny 
did  not  like  it  very  much. 

"To  disarm  all  suspicion,  the  Dude  Giant  was 
very  affable  to  the  Dwarf  for  a  whole  week,  and 
to  see  him  talking  to  Tiny  no  one  would  have 
suspected  that  he  hated  him  so,  which  shows 
how  horribly  crafty  he  was.  Finally  the  hour 
for  his  revenge  arrived.  It  was  Monday  morn- 
ing, and  Forepate  and  Tiny  had  taken  their 
places  as  usual,  when,  observing  that  no  one  was 
looking,  Forepate  took  his  biggest  beaver  hat 
and  put  it  over  Tiny,  completely  hiding  him 
from  view.  Poor  Tiny  was  speechless  with  rage, 


30  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

and  so  could  not  cry  out.  Forepate  kept  him  un- 
der his  hat  all  day,  and  whenever  any  one  asked 
where  Littlejohn  was,  one  of  his  heads  would 
say,  'Alas!  Poor  Tiny,  he  has  mysteriously  dis- 
appeared!' And  another  head  would  shake  itself 
and  say  'Somebody  must  have  left  the  door  open 
and  the  wind  must  have  whisked  the  dear  little 
fellow  out  into  the  cold,  cold  world.'  Then  the 
other  two  heads  would  blubber,  at  which  the 
Dude  Giant  would  take  out  his  handkerchiefs 
and  wipe  his  eight  eyes  and  shake  all  over  as  if 
he  were  inconsolable,  and  Tiny,  overhearing  it 
all,  grew  more  and  more  speechless  with  indigna- 
tion. 

"That  night,  of  course,  Forepate  had  to  release 
him,  and  Tiny  hurried  away  fairly  howling  with 
anger.  When  he  arrived  at  home  he  told  his 
mother  how  he  had  been  treated  and  how  he  had 
been  done  out  of  a  whole  day's  cream  cakes  and 
picture  books  and  roller  skates,  and  she  advised 
him  to  go  at  once  to  the  Whirlwind  and  confide 
his  woe  to  him,  which  he  did. 

"  'Forepate  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself/ 
said  the  Whirlwind,  when  Tiny  had  told'  his 
story. 

"  'But  he  never  does  what  he  ought  to  do  un- 
less somebody  makes  him/  said  Tiny,  ruefully. 


THE  DWARF  AND  THE  DUDE  GIANT.      31 

'Can't  we   do  something  to  make   him  ashamed 
of  himself?' 

"'Well,  I'll  see,'  said  the  Whirlwind,  with  a 
shake  of  his  head  that  meant  that  he  intended 
to  do  something.  'What  does  the  Dude  Giant  do 
with  himself  on  Sundays?' 

"'Shows  off  his  best  hats  on  Fifth  avenue," 
returned  the  Dwarf. 

"'Very  well  then,  I  have  it/  said  the  Whirl- 
wind. 'Next  Sunday,  Tiny,  we'll  have  our  re- 
venge on  Forepate.  You  stand  on  one  of  the 
stoops  at  the  corner  of  Fifth  avenue  and  Thirty- 
fourth  street  at  midday,  and  you'll  see  a  sight 
that  will  make  you  happy  for  the  rest  of  your 
days.' 

"So,  on  the  following  Sunday  the  Dwarf 
climbed  up  on  one  of  the  front  stoops  on  Fifth 
avenue,  near  Thirty-fourth  street,  and  waited. 
He  hadn't  been  there  long  when  he  saw  Fore- 
pate  striding  down  the  avenue  dressed  in  his  best 
clothes,  and  wearing  upon  his  heads  four  truly 
magnificent  beavers,  which  he  had  just  received 
from  London,  and  of  which  he  was  justly  proud. 

"'I  wonder  where  the  Whirlwind  is,'  thought 
the  Dwarf,  looking  anxiously  up  and  down  the 
avenue  for  his  avenger.  'I  do  hope  he  won't 
fail." 


32  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth 
when  Forepate  reached  the  crossing  of  Thirty- 
fourth  street,  and  just  as  he  stepped  from  the 
walk  into  the  street,  bzoo !  along  came  the 
Whirlwind,  and  off  went  Forepate's  treasured 
hats.  One  hat  flew  madly  up  Fifth  avenue.  A 
second  rolled  swiftly  down  Fifth  avenue.  A  third 
tripped  merrily  along  East  Thirty-fourth  street, 
while  the  fourth  sailed  joyously  into  the  air, 
struck  a  lamp-post,  and  then  plunged  along 
West  Thirty -fourth  street.  And  then!  Dear  me! 
What  a  terrible  thing  happened!  It  was  per- 
fectly awful — simply  dreadful!" 

"Hurry  up  and  tell  it,"  said  Jimrnieboy,  jump- 
ing up  and  down  with  anxiety  to  hear  what  hap- 
pened next. 

"Then,"  said  his  papa,  "when  the  Dude  Giant 
saw  his  beloved  hats  flying  in  every  direction 
he  howled  aloud  with  every  one  of  his  four 
voices,  and  craned  each  of  his  necks  in  the 
direction  in  which  it's  hat  had  flown. 

"Then  the  head  with  the  auburn  hair  de- 
manded that  the  Giant  should  immediately  run 
up  Fifth  avenue  to  recover  it's  lost  beaver,  and 
the  giant  started,  but  hardly  had  he  gone  a  step 
when  the  head  with  the  black  hair  cried  out : 

"  'No !    Down  Fifth  avenue  after  my  hat.' 


THE  DWARF  AND  THE  DUDE  GIANT.      33 

"'Not  at  all!'  shrieked  the  head  without  any 
hair.  'Go  east  after  mine.' 

"'Well,  I  guess  not!'  roared  the  head  that 
had  curly  hair.  'He's  going  west  after  mine.' 

"Meanwhile  the  Giant  had  come  to  a  stand- 
still. He  couldn't  run  in  any  direction  until  his 
heads  had  agreed  as  to  which  way  he  should  go, 
and  all  this  time  the  beautiful  hats  were  getting 
farther  and  farther  away,  and  the  heads  more 
frantic  than  ever.  For  five  full  minutes  they 
quarreled  thus  among  themselves,  turning  now 
and  then  to  peer  weepingly  after  their  beloved 
silk  hats,  and  finally,  with  a  supreme  effort,  each 
endeavored  to  force  the  Giant  in  the  direction  it 
wished  him  to  go,  with  the  result  that  poor  Fore- 
pate  was  torn  to  pieces,  and  fell  dead  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  street." 

Here  papa  paused  and  closed  his  eyes  for  a 
minute. 

"Is  that  all?"  queried  Jimmieboy. 

"Yes— I  believe  that's  all.  The  Dude  Giant 
was  dead  and  the  Dwarf  was  avenged." 

"And  what  became  of  Tiny?"  asked  Jimmie- 
boy. 

"Oh,  Tiny,"  said  his  father,  "Tiny— he— he 
laughed  so  heartily  at  the  Dude  Giant's  mishap 
that  he  loosened  the  impediment  to  his  growth,— 


34  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"The  what?"  asked  Jimmieboy,  to  whom 
words  like  impediment  were  rather  strange. 

"Why,  the  bone  that  kept  him  from  growing," 
explairied  the  story  teller.  "He  loosened  that 
and  began  to  grow  again,  and  inside  of  two 
weeks  he  was  as  handsome  a  six-footer  as  you 
ever  saw,  and  as  he  had  made  a  million  and  a 
half  of  dollars  he  resigned  from  the  Exhibition 
and  settled  down  in  Europe  for  a  number  of 
years,  had  himself  made  a  Grand  Duke,  and  then 
came  back  to  New  York  and  got  married,  and 
lived  happy  ever  after." 

And  then,  as  the  getting-up  bell  rang  down 
stairs,  Jimmieboy  thanked  his  father  for  the 
story  and  went  into  the  nursery  to  dress  for 
breakfast. 


JIMMIEBOTS  DREAM  POETRY.  35 


III. 

JIMMIEBOY'S  DREAM  POETRY. 

IF  there  is  anything  in  the  world  that  Jimmie- 
boy  likes  better  than  custard  and  choo-choo 
cars,  it  is  to  snuggle  down  in  his  papa's  lap 
about  bedtime  and  pretend  to  keep  awake.  It 
doesn't  matter  at  all  how  tired  he  is,  or  how  late 
bedtime  may  on  special  occasions  be  delayed, 
he  is  never  ready  to  be  undressed  and  "filed 
away  for  the  night,"  as  his  Uncle  Periwinkle 
puts  it. 

It  was  just  this  way  the  other  night.  He  was 
as  sleepy  as  he  possibly  could  be.  The  sandman 
had  left  enough  sand  in  his  eyes,  or  so  it  seemed 
to  Jimmieboy,  to  start  a  respectable  sea-beach, 
and  he  really  felt  as  if  all  he  needed  to  make  a 
summer  resort  of  himself  was  a  big  hotel,  a 
band  of  music,  and  an  ocean.  But  in  spite  of 
all  this  he  didn't  want  to  go  to  bed,  and  he  had 


36  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

apparently  made  up  his  mind  that  he  was  n't  go- 
ing- to  want  to  go  to  bed  for  some  time  to  come ; 
and  as  his  papa  was  in  an  unusually  indulgent 
mood,  the  little  f ello  w  was  permitted  to  nestle  up 
close  under  his  left  arm  and  sit  there  on  his  lap  in 
the  library  after  dinner,  while  his  mamma  read 
aloud  an  article  in  one  of  the  magazines  on  the 
subject  of  dream  poetry. 

It  was  a  very  interesting  article,  Jimmieboy 
thought.  The  idea  of  anybody's  writing  poetry 
while  asleep  struck  him  as  being  very  comical, 
and  he  laughed  several  times  in  a  sleepy  sort  of 
way,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  he  thought,  "Why, 
if  other  people  can  do  it,  why  can't  I?" 

"Why?"  he  answered — he  was  quite  fond  of 
asking  himself  questions  and  then  answering 
them— "why?  Because  you  can't  write  at  all. 
You  don't  know  an  H  from  a  D,  unless  there's 
a  Horse  in  the  picture  with  the  H,  and  a  Donkey 
with  the  D.  That's  why." 

"True;  but  that's  only  when  I'm  awake." 

"Try  it  and  see,"  whispered  the  Pencil  in  his 
papa's  vest  pocket.  "I'll  help,  and  maybe  our 
old  friend  the  Scratch  Pad  will  help  too." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Jimmieboy,  taking 
the  Pencil  out  of  his  papa's  pocket,  and  assisting 
it  to  climb  down  to  the  floor,  so  that  it  could  run 


JIMMIEBO  r  S  DREAM  POETR Y.  37 

over  to  the  desk  and  tell  the  Scratch  Pad  it  was 
wanted 

"Don't  you  lose  my  pencil,"  said  papa. 

"No,  I  won't,"  replied  Jimmieboy,  his  eyes  fol- 
lowing the  Pencil  in  its  rather  winding  course 
about  the  room  to  where  the  desk  stood. 

"I  have  to  keep  out  of  sight,  you  know,  Jim- 
mieboy," the  Pencil  said,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice. 
"Because  if  I  didn't,  and  your  papa  saw  me 
walking  off,  he'd  grab  hold  of  me  and  put  me 
back  in  his  pocket  again." 

Suddenly  the  Pencil  disappeared  over  by  the 
waste-basket,  and  then  Jimmieboy  heard  him 
calling,  in  a  loud  whisper :  "  Hi !  Pad  !  Paddy ! 
Pad-dee!" 

"What's  wanted?"  answered  the  Pad,  crawl- 
ing over  the  edge  of  the  desk  and  peering  down 
at  the  Pencil,  who  was  by  this  time  hallooing 
himself  hoarse. 

"Jimmieboy  and  I  are  going  to  write  some 
dt-eam  poetry,  and  we  want  you  to  help,"  said  the 
Pencil. 

"Oli,  I'm  not  sleepy,"  said  the  Pad. 

"Neither  am  I,"  returned  the  Pencil.  "But 
that  needn't  make  any  difference.  Jimmieboy 
does  the  sleeping  and  dreaming,  and  you  and  I 
do  the  rest." 


38  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Oh,  that's  it,  eh?  Well,  then,  I  don't  mind; 
but— er— how  am  I  ever  going  to  get  down 
there?"  asked  the  Pad.  "It's  a  pretty  big  jump." 

"  That's  so,"  answered  the  Pencil.  "  I  wouldn't 
try  jumping.  Can't  the  Twine  help  you?" 

"No.     He's  all  used  up." 

"Then  I  have  it,"  said  the  Pencil.  "Put  a  little 


ARM  IN  ARM  THEY  TIPTOED  SOFTLY  ACROSS  THE  ROOM. 

mucilage   on   your  back   and  slide   down.     The 
mucilage  will  keep  you  from  going  too  fast." 

"Good  scheme,"  said  the  Pad,  putting  the  Pen- 
cil's suggestion  into  practice,  and  finding  that  it 
worked  beautifully,  even  if  it  did  make  him  feel 
uncomfortably  sticky 


JIMMIEBOY1  S  DREAM  POETRY.  39 

And  then,  arm  in  arm,  they  tip-toed  softly 
across  the  room  and  climbed  up  into  Jimmie- 
boy's  lap.  So  quietly  did  they  go  that  neither 
Jimmieboy's  mamma,  nor  his  papa  noticed  them 
at  all,  as  they  might  have  had  the  conspirators 
been  noisy,  although  mamma  was  reading  and 
papa's  head  was  thrown  back,  so  that  his  eyes 
rested  on  the  picture  moulding. 

"Here  we  are,  Jimmieboy,"  said  the  Pad. 
"  Pen  here  tells  me  you're  going  to  try  a  little 
dream  poetry." 

"Yes,"   said  Jimmieboy.     "lam,  if  you  two 
will  help." 

"Count  on  us,"  said  the  Pencil.  "What  do  you 
do  first?" 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "But 
I  rather  think  I  take  Pencil  in  my  hand,  Pad 
in  my  lap,  and  fall  asleep." 

"All  right,"  said  the  Pad,  lying  flat  on  his 
back.  "I'm  ready." 

"So  am  I,"  put  in  the  Pencil,  settling  down  be- 
tween two  of  Jimmieboy's  fingers. 

"All  aboard  for  sleep,"  said  Jimmieboy,  with 
a  smile,  and  then  he  fell  into  a  doze.  In  about 
two  minutes  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  and  found 
both  Pad  and  Pencil  in  a  great  state  of  excite- 
ment. 


40  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Did  I  write  anything?"  asked  Jimmieboy,  in 
an  excited  whisper. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Pad.  "You  just  covered  me 
up  with  a  senseless  mass  of  words.  This  isn't 
any  fun." 

"  No,"  said  the  Pencil.  "  It's  all  nonsense.  Just 
see  here  what  you've  got." 

Jimmieboy  looked  anxiously  at  the  Pad,  and 
this  is  what  he  saw: 

I  seen  since, 

memory's  wrong, 

They  both        dressed 

couple  walked 

And  straightway  change 

upstairs  with  me, 
"I  think  it's 
"  If  that's  the  case," 

catch  the  early      in." 

to  leave  the  shop, 
for  it's  pla 

Polypop. 

two  weeks  yesterday." 
haven't  uttered 
Oh,  Polypop,  I 

ersnee,  "  See  here, 

He  didn't  pay 

moon  was  shining  bright. 
To  see  the 

Polypop  came  down 


JIMMIEBOTS  DREAM  POETRY. 


41 


"  Dear  me !"  he  said.  "  Why,  that  doesn't  mean 
anything,  does  it?" 


JIMMTEBOY   FINDS   NOTHING  BUT  DREAM-WRITING 
ON   THE   PAD. 

"No.  There  isn't  much  in  dream  poetry,  I 
guess,"  said  the  Pad.  "I'm  going  back  home. 
Good-by. 


42  HALF-HOURS  WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 

"  "Oh,  don't  go,"  said  the  Pencil.  "Let's  try  it 
again — just  once  more.  Eh?" 

"Very  well,"  returned  the  Pad,  good-natured- 
ly, tearing  off  one  of  his  leaves.  "  Go  ahead,  Jim- 
mieboy." 

And  Jimmieboy  dozed  off  again. 

"Wake  up,  wake  up!"  cried  the  Pencil  in 
about  three  minutes.  "We've  got  something 
this  time." 

But  they  were  all  disappointed,  for,  when  they 
looked,  all  that  they  could  see  was  this: 

have  not          them 
And  if  my  not 

were  in  chintz  ; 

With  that  the  along  ; 

your  vest." 
For  you  to  go 
Replied  best, 

the  Snickersnee, 

And  tra 

I  hadn't  time 
"My  reason  in  ; 

"I  know  it,"  said  the 

Since 

You  one  small  cheer, 

say, 
Then  quoth  the  Snick 


JIMMIEBOY' S  DREAM  POETRY.  43 

his  fee. 
And  as  the 

Snickersnee, 
The  one  night, 

"Rubbish!"  said  the  Pad,  indignantly. 
"There's  two  leaves  of  myself  wasted  now  on 
your  old  dream  poetry.  I  think  that's  enough. 
I'm  off.  Good-by." 

"Don't  be  hasty,  Pad,"  retorted  the  Pencil. 
"That's  a  great  deal  better  than  the  other. 
Why,  there's  one  part  there  with  all  the  lines 
beginning  with  capitals,  and  when  that  happens 
it's  generally  a  sign  that  there's  poetry  around." 

"There  isn't  much  there,  though,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy,  a  little  disappointed  by  the  result.  "  I 
guess  Pad's  right.  We'd  better  give  it  up." 

"Not  yet,"  pleaded  the  Pencil.  "There's  luck 
in  odd  numbers,  you  know.  Let's  try  it  just 
once  more." 

"Shall  we,  Jimmieboy?"  asked  the  Pad. 

"Yes.  Let's,"  assented  Jimmieboy,  as  he 
dropped  off  to  sleep  for  the  third  time. 

This  time  he  must  have  slept  five  minutes. 
When  he  opened  his  eyes  he  saw  the  Pencil 
staring  blankly  at  the  Pad,  on  which  was  writ- 
ten nothing  more  than  this  curious  looking  for- 
mula: 


14  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

2 
2 

4 

"How  aggravating!"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Abominable!"  ejaculated 'the  Pad. 

"I  believe  it's  a  kay, to  what  has  gone  before," 
said  the  Pencil,  shaking  his  rubber  wisely.  "  Two 
and  two  make  four — two  and  two  make  four. 
Ah !  I  know.  You've  got  to  put  two  and  two 
together  to  make  four.  If  we  put  those  two 
leaves  of  nonsensical  words  together,  maybe 
we'll  have  a  poem.  Let's  try." 

"It'll  use  me  up,  I'm  afraid,"  sighed,  the  Pad. 

"Oh,  no.  It  won't  take  more  than  a  half  of 
you,"  said  the  Pencil,  patting  the  two  leaves. "on 
which  Jimmieboy  had  first  .'written  together. 

"It  looks  like  a  poern,"  he  said,  when  he  had 
.fitted  the  two  together.  "Let's  see  how  it  reads. 

"I  hnve  not  seen  them  since. 
.  And  if  my  memory's  not  wrong, 

They  both  we're  dressed  in  chintz, 
With  that  the  couple  walked  along ;" 

"That  doesn't  mean  a  blessed  thing,"'  said  the 
Pad. 

"It's  nonsense,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Just  wait!"  said  the  Pencil,  beginning  to  read 
again : 


JIMMIEBOTS  DREAM  POETRY.  45 

And  straightway  change  your  vest." 
For  you  to  go  upstairs  with  me, 

Replied,  "I  think  it's  best 
"If  mat's  the  case,"  the  Snickersnee 

And  catch  the  early  train." 
I  hadn,'t  time  to  leave  the  shop 
"My  reason  for  it's  plain  ; 
"I  know' if,"  said  the  Polypop  ; 

"  Since  two  weeks  yesterday." 
You  haven't  uttered  one  small  cheer 

Qh,  Polypop,  I  say, 
Then  quoth  the  Snickersnee,  "See  here, 

He  didn't  pay  his  fee. 
And  as  tljie  moon  was  shining  bright, 

To  see  the  Snickersnee, 
The  Polypop  came  down  one  night 

"Ho!"  jeered  the  Pad.  "That's  elegant  poetry, 
that  is.  You  might  get  paid  five  cents  a  mile  for 
stuff  like  that,  if  you  wanted  to  sell  it  and  had 
luck." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  the  Pencil.  "It  rhymes 
well." 

"Oh,  I  know  what's  the  matter,"  said  Jimmie- 
hoy,  gleefully.  "Why,  of  course  it's  poetry. 
Read  it  upside  down,  and  it's  all  right.  It's 
dream  poetry,  and  dreams  always  go  the  other 
way.  Why,  it's  fine.  Just  listen: 


46  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"The  Polypop  came  down  one  night 

To  see  the  Snickersnee, 
And,  as  the  moon  was  shining  bright, 
He  didn't  pay  his  fee." 

"  That  is  good,"  said  the  Pad.  "  Let  me  say  the 
next: 

"Then,  quoth  the  Snickersnee,  'See  here, 

Oh,  Polypop,  I  say, 
You  have  not  uttered  one  small  cheer 
Since  two  weeks  yesterday.'  " 

"I  thought  it  would  come  out  right,"  said  the 
Pencil.  "  The  next  two  verses  are  particularly 
good,  too: 

"'I  know  it,'  said  the  Polypop ; 

'My  reason  for  it's  plain  ; 
I  hadn't  time  to  leave  the  shop 
And  catch  the  early  train.' 

"'If  that's  the  case,'  the  Snickersnee 

Replied,  'I  think  it's  best 
For  you  to  go  upstairs  with  me, 

And  straightway  change  your  vest.'  " 

"Now  altogether,"  cried  the  Pad,  enthusiastic- 
ally. "One,  two,  three!"  And  then  they  all 
recited : 

"  With  that  the  couple  walked  along ; 
They  both  were  dressed  in  chintz ; 
And  if  my  memory's  not  wrong, 
I  have  not  seen  them  since." 


JIMMIEBOTS  DREAM  POETRY.  47 

"Hooray !"  cried  Jimmieboy,  as  they  finished 
—so  loudly  that  it  nearly  deafened  the  Pad, 
which  jumped  from  his  lap  and  scurried  back  to 
the  table  as  fast  as  it  could  go. 

"What's  that  cheer  for?"  asked  papa,  looking 
down  into  Jimmieboy  7s  face,  and  grabbing  the 
Pencil,  which  was  on  the  point  of  falling  to  the 
floor. 

"It's  for  Dream  Poetry,"  murmured  Jimmie- 
boy, getting  drowsy  again.  "  I've  just  dreamed 
a  lot.  It's  on  the  Pad." 

"Indeed!"  said  papa,  with  a  sly  wink  at  mam- 
ma. "Let's  get  the  Pad  and  read  it." 

The  little  fellow  straightened  up  and  ran 
across  to  the  desk,  and,  grasping  the  Pad  firmly 
in  his  hands,  handed  it  to  his  father  to  read. 

"H'm!"said  papa,  staring  at  the  leaf  before 
him.  "Blank  verse." 

"Read  it,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"I  cant'  to-night,  my  boy,"  he  answered.  "My 
eyes  are  too  weak  for  me  to  see  dream  writing." 

For  between  you  and  me  that  was  the  only  kind 
of  writing  there  was  on  that  Pad. 


48  HALF- HOURS  WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 


IV. 

A   SUBTERRANEAN    MUTINY. 

IT  seemed  rather  strange  that  it  should  have 
been  left  there,  and  yet  Jimmieboy  was  glad 
that  in  grading  his  papa's  tennis-court  the  men 
had  left  that  bit  of  flat  rock  to  show  up  on  the 
surface  of  the  lawn.  It  had  afforded  him  no  end 
of  pleasure  since  he  had  first  discovered  it.  As 
a  make-believe  island  in  a  raging  sea  of  grass, 
he  had  often  used  it  to  be  cast  away  upon,  but 
chiefly  had  he  employed  it  as  a  vantage  ground 
from  which  to  watch  his  father  and  his  father's 
friends  at  their  games  of  tennis.  The  rock  was 
just  about  large  enough  for  the  boy  to  sit  upon 
and  pretend  that  he  was  umpire,  or,  as  his  father 
said,  mascot  for  his  father's  opponents,  and  it 
rarely  happened  that  a  game  of  tennis  was 
played  upon  the  court  that  was  not  witnessed  by 
Jimmieboy  seated  upon  his  rocky  coigne. 
The  strangest  experience  that  Jimmieboy  ever 


A  SUBTERRANEAN  MUTINY.  49 

had  with  this  bit  of  stone,  however,  was  one 
warm  afternoon  last  summer.  It  was  at  the 
drowsy  period  of  the  day.  The  tennis  players 
were  indulging  in  a  game,  which,  to  the  little  on- 
looker, was  unusually  dull,  and  he  was  on  the 
point  of  starting  off  in  pursuit  of  something,  it 
mattered  not  what,  so  long  as  it  was  interesting 
enough  to  keep  him  awake,  when  he  observed  a 
most  peculiar  thing  about  the  flat  stone.  It  ha,d 
unquestionably  become  transparent !  Jimmieboy 
could  see  through  it,  and  what  he  saw  was  of 
most  unexpected  quality. 

"Dear  me!"  he  ejaculated,  "how  very  queer. 
This  rock  is  made  of  glass." 

Then  he  peered  down  through  it,  and  saw  a 
beautiful  marble  staircase  running  down  into 
the  earth,  at  the  foot  of  which  was  a  great  door 
that  looked  as  though  it  was  made  of  silver,  and 
the  key  was  of  gold.  At  the  sides  of  the  stair- 
case, hanging  upon  the  walls,  were  pictures  of 
strange  little  men  and  women,  but  unlike  the 
men  and  women  in  other  pictures,  they  moved 
about,  and  talked,  and  romped,  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  themselves  hugely.  Great  pictures  were 
they  indeed  to  Jimmieboy's  mind,  because  they 
were  constantly  changing,  like  the  designs  in 
his  kaleidoscope. 


50  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"I  must  get  down  there,"  lie  said,  softly,  to 
himself.  "But  how?" 

As  he  spoke  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  steps 
opened,  and  a  small  creature,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  goblin  in  Jimmieboy's  fairy  book,  poked 
his  head  out.  The  goblin  looked  all  about  him, 
and  then  turning  his  oyes  upward  until  they  met 
those  of  the  boy,  he  cried  out : 

"  Hullo !     Are  you  the  toy  peddler?" 

"No,"  replied  Jimmieboy. 

"  Then  you  are  the  milk  broker,  or  the  potato 
merchant,  and  we  don't  want  any  milk  or  any 
potatoes." 

The  goblin  slammed  the  door  when  he  had  said 
this,  and  with  such  a  bang  that  all  the  little  peo- 
ple in  the  pictures  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  frame 
and  peered  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  One 
poor  little  fellow,  who  had  been  tending  sheep  in 
a  picture  half-way  up  the  stairs,  leaned  out  so 
far  that  he  lost  his  balance  and  tumbled  out 
head  over  heels.  The  sheep  scampered  over  the 
hill  and  disappeared  in  the  background  of  the 
painting. 

"Poor  little  shepherd  boy!"  said  Jimmieboy. 
"I  hope  you  are  not  hurt!" 

The  shepherd  boy  looked  up  gratefully  at  the 
speaker,  and  said  he  wasn't,  except  in  his  feelings. 


A  SUBTERRANEAN  MUTINY.  51 

"Is  there  any  way  for  me  to  get  in  there?" 
asked  Jimmieboy. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  shepherd  boy.  "That  is, 
not  all  of  you.  Part  of  you  can  come  in." 

"Ho!"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I  can't  divide  my- 
self up." 

"Yes,  you  can,"  returned  the  shepherd  boy. 
"It's  easy  enough,  when  you  know  how,  but  I 
suppose  you  don't  know  how,  not  having  studied 
arithmetic.  You  can't  even  add,  much  less 
divide." 

"Maybe  you  can  tell  me  how."  said  Jimmie- 
boy. 

"Certainly,  I  can,"  said  the  shepherd  boy. 
"The  part  of  you  that  can  come  in  is  your  eye, 
and  your  ear,  and  your  voice-.  All  the  rest  of 
you  must  stay  out." 

"But  how  do  I  get  'em  in?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"They  are  in  now,"  said  the  other.  "You  can 
see  me,  you  can  hear  me,  and  I  can  hear  you." 

"But  I  can't  see  what's  beyond  that  door." 

"Oh,  we'll  fix  that,"  said  the  little  shepherd. 
"  I'll  knock  on  the  door,  and  when  it  is  opened 
you  can  tell  the  goblin  that  you  want  to  see 
what  he's  got,  and  he'll  show  it  all  to  you  if  you 
tell  him  that  your  father  is  the  man  who  didn't 
blast  the  rock  out." 


52  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

The  shepherd  boy  then  went  softly  down  the 
stairs,  knocked  on  the  door,  and  before  it  was 
opened  had  flown  back  to  his  :  duties  in  the  pic- 
ture. Then,  as  he  had  intimated,  the  goblin 
opened  the  door  again,  and  poking  his.  head  out 
as  before,  cried : 

"Is  that  .you.  milk  broker?" 

"No,"  answered  Jimmieboy.  "I  am  the  sonuof 
the  man  who  didn't  blast  away  the  flat  rock, 
and  my  eye  and  my  ear  and  my.  voice  want  to 
come  in." 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  the -goblin,  throwing 
the  door  wide  open.  "I  didn't  know  you  were 
you.  Let  'em  walk  right  in." 

Jimmieboy  was  about  to  say  that  he t  didn't 
know  how  his  eye  or  his  ear  or  his  voice  could 
walk  anywhere,  but  he  was  prevented  from  so 
.doing  by  the  sudden  disappearance  of  the  stair- 
case, and  the  substitution  therefor  of  a  huge 
room,  the  splendor  of  which  was  so  great  tliait 
it  for  a  moment  dazzled' his  eyes, 

"Who  comes  here?"  said  a  voice  in  the  corner 
of  the  room. 

"The  eye  and  the  ear  and  the  voice  of  the  son 
of  the  man  who  did  not  blast  the  flat;  stone;"  ob- 
served the  goblin,  and  then  Jimniieboy.  per- 
ceived, seated  upon  a  lustrous  golden  throne, 


A  SUBTERRANEAN  MUTINY.  #3 

a  shriveled-irp  dwarf,  who  looked  as  if  he  might 
be  a  thousand  years  old,  but  who,  to  judge  from 
the  crown  he  wore  upon  his  head,  was  a  king. 

The  dwarf  was  clad  in  garments  of  the  richest 
texture,  and  his  person  was  luminous  with  jewels 
o:f  the  rarest  sort.  As  the  goblin  announced  the 
visitor  the  king  rose  up,  and  descending  from 
the  throne,  made  a  courtly  bow  to  Jimmieboy. 

"Thrice  welcome,  0  son  of  the  man  who  did 
not  blast  the  flat  rock,"  he  said.  "It  is  only  fit- 
ting that  one  AV!IO  owes  so  much  to  the  father 
should  welcome  the  eye  and  the  ear  and  the 
voice  of  the  son,  for  know,  O  boy,  that  I  am  the 
lord  of  the  TTndergroundies  whose  kingdom 
would  have  been  shattered  but  for  your  father's 
kindly  act  in  sparing  it." 

"I  suppose  that  blasting  the  rock  would  ha.ve 
spoiled  all  this,"  said  Jimmieboy 's  voice,  .as  his 
eye  took  in  the  royal  magnificence  of  the  place, 
while  to  his  ears  came  strains  of  soft  and  sweet 
music.  "It  would  have  been  dreadful!" 

"Much  more  dreadful  than  you  imagine,"  re- 
plied the  little  king.  "It  would  have  worked 
damage  that  a  life-time  could  not  have  repaired." 

Then  t'he  king  turned  to  a  tall,  pale  creature 
in  black  who  sat  writing  at  a  mahogany  table  in 
one  corner  of  the  throne  room,  and  commanded 


54  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

him  to  recite  into  Jimmieboy's  ear  how  dreadful 
it  would  have  been. 

"Compose,  O  laureate,"  he  said  to  the  tall,  pale 
creature, "compose  a  song  in  which  the  dire  ef- 
fects of  such  a  blast  are  fully  set  forth." 

The  laureate  rose  from  his  seat,  and  bowing 
low  before  the  king  and  Jimmieboy's  eye,  began 
his  song,  which  ran  in  this  wise : 

"A  half  a  pound  of  dynamite 

Set  in  that  smooth,  flat  stone, 
Our  palace  would  quite  out  of  signt 
Most  certainly  have  blown. 

"It  would  have  blown  our  window-panes 

To  high  Gibraltar's  ledge, 
And  all  our  streets  and  country  lanes 
It  would  have  set  on  edge. 

"It  would  have  knocked  our  royal  king 

As  far  up  as  the  moon  ; 
Beyond  the  reach  of  anything — 
Beyond  the  best  balloon. 

"It  would  have  taken  all  our  pears, 

Our  candy  and  our  toys, 
And  hurled  them  where  the  polar  bears 
Indulge  in  horrid  noise. 

"It  would  have  spoiled  the  music-box, 

And  ruined  all  our  books — 
Knocked  holes  in  all  our  woolen  socks, 
And  ruined  thus  their  looks. 


A  SUBTERRANEAN  MUTINY.  55 

'41T\vould  have  destroyed  our  chandeliers, 

To  dougn  turned  all  our  pie ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  my  little  dears, 
It  would  have  injured  I." 

"Is  that  dreadful  enough?"  asked  t'\e  laureate, 
turning  to  the  king. 

"It  suits  me,"  said  the  king.  "But  perhaps 
our  friend  Jimmieboy  would  like  to  have  it  made 
a  little  more  dreadful." 

"In  that  case,"  said  the  laureate,  "I  can  com- 
pose a  few  more  verses  in  which  the  blast  makes 
the  tennis-court  over  us  cave  in  and  bury  all  the 
cake  and  jam  we  have  in  the  larder,  or  if  he 
thinks  that  too  much  to  sacrifice,  and  would  like 
a  little  pleasure  mixed  in  with  the  terribleness, 
the  cod-liver  oil  bottle  might  be  destroyed." 

"I  wouldn't  spoil  the  cake  and  jam,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy's  voice,  in  reply  to  this.  "But  the  cod- 
liver  oil  might  go." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  laureate,  and  then  he 
bowed  low  again  and  sang : 

"  But  there  is  balm  for  our  annoy, 

For  next  the  blast  doth  spoil 
Six  hundred  quarts — O  joy  !    O  joy  ! — 
Of  vile  cod-'  Ver  oil." 

"I  should  think  you  would  have  liked  that," 
said  Jimmieboy 's  voice. 


56  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"I  would  have,"  said  the  king,  "because  you 
know  the  law  of  this  country  requires  the  king 
to  consume  a  bottle  of  cod-liver  oil  every  day, 
and  if  the  bottles  were  all  broken,  perhaps  the 
law,  too.  would  have  been  crushed  out  of  exist- 
ence. But,  after  all,  I'd  rather  be  king  with  cod- 
liver  oil  than  have  my  kingdom  ruined  and  do 
without  it.  How  would  you  like  to  see  our  gar- 
dens?" 

"Very  much,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I'm  fond  of 
flowers." 

The  king  laughed. 

"What  a  droll  idea,"  he  said,  turning  to  the 
laureate.  "The  idea  of  flowers  growing  in  gar- 
dens !  Write  me  a  rhyme  on  the  drollness  of  the 
idea." 

The  laureate  sighed.  It  was  evident  that  he 
was  getting  tired  of  composing  verses  to  order. 

"I  hear  and  obey,"  he  replied,  shortly,  and 
then  he  recited  as  follows : 

"To  think  of  wasting  any  time 
In  raising  flowers,  I  think, 
Is  worse  than  writing  nonsense-rhyme, 
Or  frying  purple  ink. 

"It's  queerer  really  than  the  act 
Of  painting  sword-fish  green  ; 
Or  sailing  down  a  cataract 
To  please  a  magazine. 


A  SUBTERRANEAN  MUTINY.  57 

"Indeed,  it  really  seems  to  me, 

Who  now  am  very  old, 
The  drollest  bit  of  drollery 
That  ever  has  been  drolled." 

"But  what  do  you  raise  in  your  gardens?" 
asked  Jimmieboy,  as  the  laureate  completed  his 
composition. 

"Nothing,  of  course,"  said  the  king.  "What's 
a  garden  for,  anyhow?  Pleasure,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jimmeboy's  voice,  "but— 

"There  isn't  any  but  about  it,"  said  the  king. 
"If  a  garden  is  for  pleasure  it  must  not  be 
worked  in.  Business  and  pleasure  are  two  very 
different  things,  and  you  cannot  raise  flowers 
without  working." 

"But  how  do  you  get  pleasure  out  of  a  garden 
when  you  don't  raise  anything  in  it?" 

"Aren't  you  dull !"  ejaculated  the  king.  "Write 
me  a  quatrain  on  his  dullness,  O  laureate." 

"Confound  his  dullness!"  muttered  the  lau- 
reate. "I'm  rapidly  wearing  out,  poetizing 
about  this  boy."  Then  he  added,  aloud:  "Cer- 
tainly, your  majesty.  Here  it  is: 

"He  is  the  very  dullest  lad 
I've  seen  in  all  my  life  ; 
For  dullness  he  is  quite  as  bad 
As  any  oyster-knife.1' 


58  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  the  king,  with  a  frown. 

"I'm  afraid  four  lines  is  as  many  as  I  can 
squeeze  into  a  quatrain,'1  said  the  laureate,  re- 
turning the  frown  with  interest. 

"Then  tell  this  young  man's  ear,  sirrah,  how 
it  comes  that  we  get  pleasure  out  of  a  garden  in 
which  nothing  grows." 

"If  I  must— I  suppose  I  must,"  growled  the 
laureate ;  and  then  he  recited : 

"The  plan  is  thus,  O  little  wit, 

You'll  see  it  in  a  minute  ; 
We  get  our  pleasures  out  of  it, 
Because  there's  none  within  it." 

"That  is  very  poor  poetry,  Laury!"  snapped 
the  king. 

"If  you  don't  like  it,  don't  take  it,"  retorted  the 
laureate.  "I'm  tired  of  this  business,  anyhow." 

"And  what,  pray,"  cried  the  king,  striding  an- 
grily forward  to  the  mutinous  poet,  "  what  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"I'm  going  to  get  up  a  revolution,"  retorted 
the  laureate,  shaking  his  quill  pen  fiercely  at  the 
king.  "If  I  go  to  the  people  to-morrow,  and 
promise  not  to  write  any  more  poetry,  they'll  all 
be  so  grateful  they'll  make  me  king,  and  set  you 
to  work  wheeling  coal  in  the  mines  for  the  mor- 
tals." 


A  SUBTERRANEAN  MUTINY.  59 

The  king's  face  grew  so  dark  with  anger  as 
the  laureate  spoke  that  Jimmieboy's  eye  could 
hardly  see  two  inches  before  itself,  and  in  haste 
the  little  fellow  withdrew  it  from  the  scene. 
What  happened  next  he  never  knew,  but  that 
missiles  were  thrown  by  the  quarreling  king  and 
poet  he  was  certain,  for  there  was  a  tremendous 
shout,  and  something  just  tipped  the  end  of  his 
ear  and  went  whizzing  by,  and  rubbing  his  eyes, 
the  boy  looked  about  him,  and  discovered  that 
he  was  still  lying  face  downward  upon  the  flat 
rock,  but  it  was  no  longer  transparent. 

Off  in  the  bushes  directly  back  of  him  was  his 
father,  looking  for  a  tennis  ball.  This,  some 
people  say,  is  the  object  that  whizzed  past  Jim- 
mieboy's ear,  but  to  this  day  the  little  fellow 
believes  that  it  was  nothing  less  than  the  king's 
crown,  which  that  worthy  monarch  had  hurled 
at  the  laureate,  that  did  this. 

For  my  part  I  take  sides  with  neither,  for,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  I  know  nothing  about  it. 


60  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIE BOY. 


V. 

•      -•  r  .,-.'..  ^  ,.• 

JIMMIEBOY   IN. THE   LIBRARY,. 

11 T  'M  going  to  sit  in  this  comf or 'ble  arm-chair  Ibyi 
1    the  fire,"   said  Jimtnieboy,  climbing  up  into 
the  capacious  easy-chair  in Jiis 'father's  library, 
and  settling  down  upon  its  soft  ctishigned  geat. 
"I've  had  my  supper,  and  it  was  all  <>f  cold 
things,  and  I  think  I  ought  ,,to  get  'em  '  warmed  * 
up  before  I  go;  to  bed. " 

"Very  well,"  said  his;p$pa.  ," Only ;be; careful,/ 
and  keep  your  feet"  a  wake,-     Jfe  wpiiJdivt.Ue  com- 
fortable if  your  feet  -should  go  to.  sleep  just  ajbcmt  i 
the  time  your  mamma  wanted  you  to  go  to  bed. 
I'd  have   to   carry   you   up  stairs,  if  that  should 
happen,  and  the  doctor  says  if  1  carry  you  much 
longer. I'll  have  a  back  like  a  dromedary." 

"Oh,  that   would  be  lovely!"  said  Jimmieboy. 
"  I'd  just  like  to  see  you  with  two  humps  on  your 


JlMMJEBOY  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  61 

ba'ck— -one  for  me,  "and  one  for  my  little 
brother:"  - 

"Dear 'me !": said  a  gruff  voice  at  Jimmieboy's 
sidev--"  Dear  me !  The  idea  of  a  boy  of  your  age, 
with  -two  "sets  of  alphabet  picture  blocks  and  a 
dictionary  righ*t  in'  the  house,  nit  knowing  that  a 
dromedary  has  only  one  hump!  Ridiculous! 
Next  thing, you'lll)e  trymg'to  say  that  the  one- 
:eyed  catteraugus  has  two  eyes." 

-Ji-mmieboy  leaned  over  the  arm  of  the  chair  to 
see  who  it  could  be /that  spoke.  It  wasn't  his 
father,  'that  much  was  certain,  because  his  father 
hacVbfteii  said  that  it  wasn't-possible  to  do  more 
tlran:  three  things;  at 'Once,' and  lie  was  now  doing 
that  many — smoking  a  cigar,  reading  a  book, 
aM1  jylayli^  w-ith:  --the  locket  on  the  ^end  of  his 
watch-chain. 

" -Who  arb' yoii,  ahvhow?"  said  Jimmieboy,  as 
he  peefed;'over  the  arm,  and  saw  nothing  but  the 
Dictionary-  T 

"  Fni  myself-— that's  -  who,"  was  -  the  answer, 
and  then  Jimmieboy  was  interested  to  see  that 
it  was  nothing  Jess  than  the  Dictionary  itself 
that  had  addressed  him.  -"You  ought  to  be  more 
careful  about  the  way  you  talk,"  added  the  Dic- 
tionary. "Your  diction  is  airy  without  being 
dictionary,  if  you  know  what  that  means,  which 


62  HALF- HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

you  don't,  as  the  Rose  remarked  to  the  Cauli- 
flower, when  the  Cauliflower  said  he'd  be  a  finer 
Rose  than  the  Rose  if  he  smelled  as  sweet." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  Jimmieboy  replied,  meekly, "  I 
forgot  that  the  dromedary  only  had  one  hump." 

"I  don't  believe  you'd  know  a  dromedary  from 
a  milk  dairy  if  they  both  stood  before  you,"  re- 
torted the  Dictionary.  "Now  would  you?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  would,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "The 
milk  dairy  would  have  cream  in  bottles  in  its 
windows,  and  the  dromedary  wouldn't." 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  know  why!"  sang  the  Dic- 
tionary. "You  don't  even  begin  to  know  why  the 
dromedary  wouldn't  have  cream  in  bottles  in  its 
windows." 

"No,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "I  don't.  Why  wouldn't 
he?" 

"  Because  he  has  no  windows,"  laughed  the  Dic- 
tionary ;  "  and  between  you  and  me,  that's  one  of 
the  respects  in  which  the  dromedary  is  like  a 
base-drum — there  isn't  a  solitary  window  iri 
either  of  'em." 

"  You  know  a  terrible  lot,  don't  you?"  said  Jim- 
mieboy, patronizingly. 

"Terrible  isn't  the  word.  I'm  simply  hideously 
learned,"  said  the  Dictionary.  "Why,  I've  been 
called  a  vocabulary,  1  know  so  many  words." 


J1MMIEBOY  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  63 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  all  you  know,"  said 
Jimmieboy,  resting  his  elbows  on  the  arms  of 
the  chair,  and  putting  his  chin  on  the  palms  of 
his  two  bands.  "I'd  like  to  know  more  than  papa 
does — just  for  once.  Do  you  know  enough  to 
cell  me  anything  ne  doesn't  know?" 

"Do  I?"  laughed  the  Dictionary.  "  Well,  don't 
I?  Rather.  Why,  I'm  telling  him  things  all  the 
time.  He  came  and  asked  me  the  other  night 
what  raucous  meant,  and  how  to  spell  macrobi- 
otic." 

"And  did  you  really  know?"  asked  Jimmieboy, 
full  of  admiration  for  this  wonderful  creature. 

"Yes;  and  a  good  deal  more  besides.  Why,  if 
he  had  asked  me,  I  could  have  told  him  what  a 
zygomatic  zoophagan.  is;  but  he  never  asked 
me.  Queer,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "  What  is  one  of  those 
things?" 

"A  zygomatic  zoophagan?  Why  that's  a — er 
—let  me  see,"  said  the  Dictionary,  turning 
over  his  leaves.  "I  like  to  search  myself  pretty 
thoroughly  before  I  commit  myself  to  a  defini- 
tion. A  zygomatic  zoophagan  is  a  sort  of  cheeky 
animal  that  eats  other  animals.  You  are  one, 
though  I  wouldn't  brag  about  it  if  I  were  you. 
You  are  an  animal,  and  at  times  a  very  cheeky 


64  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

animal,  and  I've  seen  you  eat  beef.  That's  what 
makes  you  a  zygomatic  zoophagan." 

"Do  I  bite?"  asked  Jimmieboy,  a  little  afraid 
of  himself  since  he  had  learned  what  a  fearful 
creature  he  was. 

"  Only  at  dinner-time,  and  unless  you  are  very 
careless  about  it  and  eat  too  hastily  you  need 
not  be  afraid.  Very  few  zygomatic  zoophagans 
ever  bite  themselves.  In  fact,  it  never  happened 
really  -but  once  that  I  know  of.  That  was  the 
time  the  zoophagan  got  the  best  of  the  eight- 
winged  tallahassee.  Ever  hear  about  that?" 

"No,  I  never  did,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "How  did 
it  happen?" 

"  This  way,"  said  the  Dictionary,  as  he  stood  up 
and  made  a  bow  to  Jimmieboy.  And  then  he 
recited  these  lines  : 

"THE  CALIPEE  AND  THE  ZOOPHAGAN." 

"  The  yellow-faced  Zoophagan 

Was  strolling  near  the  sea, 
When  from  the  depths  of  ocean 
Sprang  forth  that  dread  amp-hib-ian, 
The  mawkish  Calipee. 

"The  Tallahassee  bird  sometimes 

The  Calipee  is  called. 
His  eyes  are  round  and  big  as  dimes, 
He  has  eight  Avings,  composes  rhymes, 
His  head  is  very  bald. 


JIMMIEBOY  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  65 

"Now  if  there  are  two  creatures  in 

This  world  who  disagree — 
Two  creatures  full  of  woe  and  sin — 
They  are  the  Zo-oph,  pale  and  thin, 

And  that  bad  Calipee. 

"  Whene'er  they  meet  they're  sure  to  fight, 

No  matter  where  they  are  ; 
Nor  do  they  stop  by  day  or  night, 
Till  one  is  beaten  out  of  sight, 

Or  safety  seeks  afar. 

"And,  sad  to  say,  the  Calipee 

Is  stronger  of  the  two  ; 
And  so  heM  won  the  victory 
At  all  tiir.es  from  his  enemy, 
The  slight  and  slender  Zoo. 

"But  this  time  it  went  otherwise, 

For,  so  the  story  goes, 
As  yonder  sun  set  in  the  skies, 
The  Calipee,  to  his  surprise, 

Was  whacked  square  on  the  nose. 

"  Which  is  the  fatal,  mortal  part 

Of  all  the  Calipees  ; 
Much  more  inportant  than  the  heart, 
For  life  is  certain  to  depart 

When  Cali  cannot  sneeze. 

"The  world,  surprised,  asked  'How  was  it? 

How  did  he  do  it  so? 
Where  did  the  Zoo  get  so  much  wit? 
How  did  he  learn  so  well  to  hit 
So  fatally  his  foe?' 


66  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

""Twas  but  his  strategy,1  then  cried 

The  friends  of  little  Zoo  ; 
'As  Cali  plunged,  our  hero  shied, 
Ran  twenty  feet  off  to  one  side, 

And  bit  himself  in  two. 

'"And  then,  you  see,  the  Calipee 

Was  certainly  undone  ; 
The  Zo-oph  beat  him  easily, 
As  it  must  nearly  always  be 

When  there  are  two  to  one.' 

"Rather  a  wonderful  tale  that,"  continued  the 
Dictionary.  "I  don't  know  that  I  really  believe 
it,  though.  It's  too  great  a  tale  for  any  dog  to 
wag,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I  don't  think  I  be- 
lieve it  either.  If  the  zoophagan  bit  himself  in 
two,  I  should  think  he'd  have  died.  I  know  I 
would." 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  said  the  Dictionary;  "be- 
cause you  couldn't.  It  isn't  a  question  of  would 
and  could,  but  of  wouldn't  and  couldn't.  By-the- 
way,  here's  a  chance  for  you  to  learn  some- 
thing. What's  the  longest  letter  in  the  alpha- 
bet?" 

"They're  all  about  the  same,  aren't  they?" 
asked  Jimmieboy. 

"They  look  so,  but  they  aren't.  L  is  the  long- 
est, An  English  ell  is  forty-five  inches  long. 


JIMMIEBOY  IN  THE  LIBRARY. 


67 


68  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

Here's  another.  What  letter  does  a  Chinaman 
wear  on  his  head  ?" 

"Double  eye!"  cried  Jimmieboy. 

"That's  pretty  good,"  said  the  Dictionary,  with 
an  approving  nod;  "but  you're  wrong.  He 
wears  a  Q.  And  I'll  tell  you  why  a  Q  is  like  a 
Chinaman.  Chinamen  don't  amount  to  a  row  of 
beans,  and  a  Q  is  nothing  but  a  zero  with  a  pig- 
tail. Do  you  know  why  they  put  A  at  the  head 
of  the  alphabet?" 

"No." 

"Because  Alphabet  begins  with  an  A." 

"Then  why  don't  they  put  T  at  the  end  of  it?" 
asked  Jimmieboy. 

"They  do,"  said  the  Dictionary.  "I-T— it." 

Jimmieboy  laughed  to  himself.  He  had  no 
idea  there  was  so  much  fun  in  the  Dictionary. 
"Tell  me  something  more,"  he  said. 

"Let  me  see.  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Dictionary, 
complacently.  "  How  ?s  this ? 

"  'Oh,  what  is  a  yak,  sir?'  the  young  man  said  ; 

'I  really  much  wish  to  hear.' 
'A  queer-looking  cad  with  a  bushy  head, 
A  buffalo-robe  all  over  him  spread, 
And  whiskers  upon  his  ear.' 

'"And  tell  me,  I  pray,'  said  the  boy  in  drab, 

Just  what's  a  Thelphusi-an?' 
1 A  great  big  crab  with  nippers  that  nab 


JIMMIEBOY  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  69 

Whatever  the  owner  desires  to  grab — 
A  crusty  crustace-an." 

"'I'm  obliged,' said  the  boy,  with  a   wide,  wide 

smirk, 

As  he  slowly  moved  away. 
'Will  you  tell  me,  sir,  ere  I  go  to  work — 
To  toil  till  the  night  brings  along  its  murk — 
How  high  peanuts  are  to-day?' 

"  And  I  had  to  give  in, 
For  I  couldn't  say  ; 
And  the  boy,  with  a  grin, 
Moved  off  on  his  way/' 

"That  was  my  own  personal  experience,"  said 
the  Dictionary.  "The  boy  was  a  very  mean  boy, 
too.  He  went  about  telling  people  that  there 
were  a  great  many  things  I  didn't  know,'  which 
was  very  true,  only  lie  never  said  what  they 
were,  and  his  friends  thought  they  were  im- 
portant things,  like  the  meaning  of  sagacious- 
ness,  and  how  many  jays  are  there  in  geranium, 
and  others.  If  he'd  told  'em  that  it  was  things 
like  the  price  of  peanuts,  and  how  are  the  fish 
biting  to-day,  and  is  your  mother's  seal-skin 
sack  plush  or  velvet,  that  I  didn't  know,  they'd 
not  have  thought  it  disgraceful.  Oh,  it  was 
awfully  mean!" 

"Particularly  after  you  had  told  him  what 
those  other  things  were,"  said  Jimmieboy. 


70  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Yes ;  but  I  got  even  with  him.  He  came  to  me 
one  day  to  find  out  what  an  episode  was,  and 
I  told  him  it  was  a  poem  in  hysterical  hexameters, 
with  a  refrain  repeated  every  eighteenth  line,  to 
be  sung  to  slow  music." 

"And  what  happened?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"  He  told  his  teacher  that,  and  he  was  kept  in 
for  two  months,  and  made  to  subtract  two  ap- 
ples from  one  lunch  every  recess." 

"Oh,  my,  how  awful!"  cried  Jimmieboy. 

"But  it  served  him  right.  Don't  you  think 
so?"  said  the  Dictionary. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "But  tell  me. 
What '11  I  tell  papa  that  he  doesn't  know?" 

"Tell  him  that  a  sasspipedon  is  a  barrel  with 
four  sides,  and  is  open  at  both  ends,  and  is  a 
much  better  place  for  cigar  ashes  than  his  lap, 
because  they  pass  through  it  to  the  floor,  and  so 
do  not  soil  his  clothes." 

"Good!"  said  Jimmieboy,  peering  across  the 
room  to  where  his  father  still  sat  smoking.  "  I 

think   I'll   tell   him   now.     Say,  papa,"  he  cried 

? 

sitting  up,  "what  is  a  sasspipedon" 

"I  don't  know.  What?"  answered  Jimmieboy's 
father,  laying  his  paper  down,  and  coming  over 
to  where  the  little  boy  sat. 

"It's  a — it's  a — it's  an  ash-barrel,"   said    the 


JIMMIEBOY  IN  THE  LIBRARY.  71 

Jittle  fellow,  trying  to  remember  what  the  Dic- 
tionary had  said. 

"Who  said  so?"  asked  papa. 

"The  Dictionary,"  answered  Jimmieboy. 

And  when  Jimmieboy 's  father  came  to  ex- 
amine the  Dictionary  on  the  subject,  the  disagree- 
able old  book  hadn't  a  thing  to  say  about  the 
sasspipedon,  and  Jimmieboy  went  up  to  bed 
wondering  what  on  earth  it  all  meant,  anyhow. 


72          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 


VI. 

JIMMIEBOY'S  SNOWMAN. 

THE  snow  had  been  falling  fast  for  well-nigh 
forty-eight  hours  and  Jimmieboy  was  al- 
most crazy  with  delight.  He  loved  the  snow  be- 
cause it  was  possible  to  do  so  much  with  it. 
One  didn't  need  to  go  into  a  store,  for  instance, 
and  part  with  ten  cents  every  time  one  hap- 
pened to  want  a  ball,  when  there  was  snow  on 
the  ground.  Then,  too.  Jimmieboy  had  a  new 
sled  he  wanted  to  try,  but  best  of  all,  his  father 
had  promised  to  make  him  a  snowman,  with 
shoe-buttons  for  eyes  and  a  battered  old  hat  on 
his  head,  if  perchance  there  could  be  found  any- 
where in  the  house  a  hat  of  that  sort.  Fortu- 
nately a  battered  old  hat  was  found,  and  the 
snowman  when  finished  looked  very  well  in  it.  I 
say  fortunately  because  Jimmieboy  had  fully 


JIMMIEBOTS  SNOWMAN.  73 

made  up  his  mind  that  a  battered  hat  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  make  the  snowman  a  suc- 
cess, and  had  not  the  old  one  been  found  I  very 
much  fear  the  youth  would  have  taken  his 
father's  new  one  and  battered  that  into  the  state 
of  usefulness  required  to  complete  the  icy  statue 
to  his  satisfaction. 

After  the  snowman  was  finished  Jimmieboy 
romped  about  him  and  shouted  in  great  glee  for 
an  hour  or  more,  and  then,  growing  a  little 
weary  of  the  sport,  he  ran  up  into  his  nursery  to 
rest  for  a  little  while.  He  had  not  been  there 
very  long  however  when  he  became,  for  some 
unknown  reason,  uneasy  about  the  funny  look- 
ing creature  he  had  left  ehind  him.  Running  to 
the  window  he  looked  out  to  see  if  the  snowman 
was  all  right,  and  he  was  much  surprised  to 
discover  that  he  wasn't  there  at  all.  He  couldn't 
have  melted,  that  was  certain,  for  the  air  was 
colder  than  it  had  been  when  the  snowman  was 
put  up.  No  one  could  have  stolen  him  because 
he  was  too  big,  and  so,  well,  it  certainly  was  a 
strange  conclusion,  but  none  the  less  the  only 
one,  he  must  have  walked  off  himself. 

"It's  mighty  queer!"  thought  Jimmieboy.  "He 
was  there  ten  minutes  ago." 

Then  he  ran  down  stairs  and  peered  out  of  the 


?4  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

window.  At  the  front  of  the  house  no  snowman 
was  in  sight.  Then  he  went  to  a  side  window 
and  looked  out.  Still  no  snowman.  And  then 
the  door-bell  rang,  and  Jimmieboy  went  to  the 
door  and  opened  it,  and,  dear  me !  how  he  laughed 
when  he  saw  who  it  was  that  had  rung  the  bell, 
as  would  also  have  you,  for,  honestly,  it  was  no 
one  else  than  the  snowman  himself. 

"What  do  you  want?"  asked  Jimimeboy.  The 
snowman  made  a  low  bow  to  Jimmieboy,  and 
replied : 

"  I  got  so  weary  standing  there, 
I  thought  I'd  ask  you  for  a  chair ; 
"Pis  rather  cool  of  me,  I  know, 
But  coolness  in  a  man  of  snow 
Is  quite  the  fashion  in  these  days, 
And  to  be  stylish  always  pays." 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  asked  Jimmieboy 
politely. 

The  snowman  stared  at  Jimmieboy  with  all 
the  power  of  the  shoe-buttons.  He  was  evidently 
surprised.  In  a  moment  or  two,  however,  he 
recovered  and  said : 

"Indeed,  I'll  enter  not  that  door, 
I've  tried  it  once  or  twice  before." 

"What  of  that?"  asked  Jimmieboy.  "Didn't 
YOU  like  it?" 


JTMMIEBOTS  SNOWMAN.  ?S 

"Ob,  yes;  I  liked  it  well  enougb, 
Although  it  used  me  pretty  rough  ; 
I  lost  a  nose  and  foot  and  ear, 
Last  time  I  happened  to  come  here." 

"Do  you  always  speak  in  rhyme?"  asked  Jim- 
mieboy,  noticing  the  snowman's  habit  for  the 
first  time. 

"Always,  except  when  I  speak  in  prose,"  said 
the  snowman.  "But  perhaps  you  don't  like 
rhyme?" 

"Yes,  I  do  like  rhyme  very  much,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy. 

"Then  you  like  me,"  saii  the  snowman,  "be- 
cause I'm  mostly  rime  myself.  But  say,  don't 
stand  there  with  the  door  open  letting  all  the 
heat  out  into  the  world.  If  you  want  to  talk  to 
me  come  outside  where  we  can  be  comfortable." 

"Very  well,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I'll  come,  if 
you'll  wait  until  I  bundle  up  a  little  so  as  to  keep 
warm." 

"All  right,  I'll  wait,"  the  snowman  answered, 
"only  don't  you  get  too  warm.  I'll  take  you  up 
to  where  I  live  and  introduce  you  to  my  boys  if 
you  like— only  hurry.  If  a  thaw  should  set  in 
we  might  have  trouble. 

"  Of  all  mean  things  I  ever  saw 
The  meanest  of  them  is  a  thaw." 


76  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

Jimmieboy,  pondering-  deeply  over  his  curious 
experience,  quickly  donned  his  overcoat  and  rub- 
ber boots,  and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell 
it  was  out  of  doors  again  with  the  snowman. 
The  huge  white  creature  smiled  happily  as  Jim- 
mieboy came  out,  and  taking  him  by  the  hand 
they  went  off  up  the  road  together. 

•'  I'm  glad  you  weren't  offended  with  me  because 
I  wouldn't  go  in  and  sit  down  in  your  house," 
said  the  snowman,  after  they  had  walked  a  little 
way.  "I  had  a  very  narrow  escape  thirty  win- 
ters ago  when  I  was  young  and  didn't  know  any 
better  than  to  accept  an  invitation  of  that  sort. 
I  lived  in  Russia  then,  and  a  small  boy  very  much 
like  you  asked  me  to  go  into  his  house  with  him 
and  see  some  funny  picture-books  he  had.  I 
said  all  right,  and  in  I  went,  never  thinking 
that  the  house  was  hot  and  that  I'd  be  in  danger 
of  melting  away.  The  boy  got  out  his  picture- 
books  and  we  sat  down  before  a  blazing  log  fire. 
Suddenly  the  boy  turned  white  as  I  was,  and 
cried  out : 

"  'Hi !     What  have  you  done  with  your  leg?' 

"'I  brought  it  in  with  me,  didn't  I?'  I  said, 
looking  down  to  where  the  leg  ought  to  be,  and 
noticing  much  to  my  concern  that  it  was  gone. 

"'I  thought  so,'    said  the  boy.     'Maybe  you 


JIMMIEBOY1  S  SNOWMAN.  77 

left  it  down  on  the  hat-rack  with  your  hat  and 
cane.' 

"'Well  I  wish  you'd  go  and  see,'  said  I,  very 
nervously.  'I  don't  want  to  lose  that  leg  if  I  can 
help  it.' 

"So  oil  the  boy  went,"  continued  the  snow- 
man, "and  I  waited  there  before  the  fire  wonder- 
ing what  on  earth  had  become  of  the  missing 
limb.  The  boy  soon  came  back  and  announced 
that  he  couldn't  find  it. 

" 'Then  I  must  hop  around  until  I  do  find  it.' 
I  put  in,  starting  up.  "Would  you  believe  it, 
Jimmieboy,  that  the  minute  I  tried  to  rise  and 
hop  off  on  the  search  I  discovered  that  my  other 
leg  was  gone  too?" 

"Dear  me!"  said  Jimmieboy.  "How  dreadful." 

"It  was  fearful,"  returned  the  snowman,  "but 
that  wasn't  half.  I  raised  my  hand  to  my  fore- 
head so  as  to  think  better,  when  off  dropped  my 
right  arm.  and  as  I  readied  out  with  my  left  to 
pick  it  up  again  that  dropped  off  too.  Then  as 
my  vest  also  disappeared,  the  boy  cried  out: 

"  'Why,  I  know  what's  the  matter.  You  are 
melting  away!' 

"He  was  right.  The  heat  of  the  log  fire  was 
just  withering  me  right  up.  Fortunately  as  my 
neck  began  to  go  and  my  head  rolled  off  the 


78  HALF-HOURS   WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 

chair  onto  the  floor,  the  boy  had  presence  of 
mind  enough  to  pick  it  up — it  was  all  that  was 
left  of  me — and  throw  it  out  of  the  window.  If 
it  hadn't  been  been  for  that  timely  act  of  his  I 
should  have  met  the  horrid  fate  of  my  cousin 
the  iceberg." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"Oh,  he  wanted  to  travel,"  said  the  snowman, 
"so  he  floated  off  down  to  South  America  and 
waked  up  one  morning  to  find  himself  nothing 
but  a  tankful  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  We  never 
saw  the  poor  fellow  again." 

"I  understand  now  why  you  didn't  want  to 
come  in,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "and  I'm  glad  you 
didn't  do  as  I  asked  you,  for  I  don't  think  mam- 
ma would  have  been  pleased  if  you'd  melted 
away  in  the  parlor." 

"I  know  she  wouldn't,"  said  the  snowman. 
"She's  like  the  woman  mentioned  in  the  poem, 
who 

hated  flies  and  mu<1dy  shoes, 

As  well  as  pigs  and  kangaroos  ; 

But  most  of  all  she  did  abhor, 

A  melted  snow-drift  on  the  floor." 

"Do  you  live  near  here?"  asked  Jimmieboy  as 
he  trudged  along  at  the  snowman's  side. 
"Well,"  replied  the  snowman,   "I  do,  and  I 


JIMMIEBOY^  S  SNOWMAN.  79 

don't.  When  I  do,  I  do,  and  when  I  don't,  it's 
otherwise.  This  climate  doesn't  agree  with  me 
in  the  sammer,  and  so  when  summer  comes  I 
move  up  to  the  North  Pole.  Ever  been  there?" 

"No,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "what  sort  of  a  place 
is  it?" 

"Fine,"  returned  the  snowman.  "The  ther- 
mometer is  always  at  least  twenty  miles  below 
zero,  even  on  the  hottest  days,  and  fire  can't 
by  any  possibility  come  near  us.  Only  one  fire 
ever  tried  to  and  it  was  frozen  stiff  before  it  got 
within  a  hundred  leagues  of  us.  In  winter,  how- 
ever, I  come  to  places  like  this,  and  bring  my  lit- 
tle boys  with  me.  We  hire  a  convenient  snow- 
drift and  live  in  that.  There's  mine  now  right 
ahead  of  you." 

Jimmieboy  peered  curiously  along  the  road,  at 
the  far  end  of  which  he  could  see  a  huge  mound 
of  snow  like  the  one  the  famous  blizzard  had 
piled  up  in  front  of  his  father's  house  some  time 
before  Jimmieboy  and  the  world  came  to  know 
each  other. 

"Do  you  live  in  that?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  snowman.  "And  I  will  say 
that  it's  one  of  the  most  conveniently  arranged 
snow-drifts  I  ever  lived  in.  The  house  part  of 
it  is  always  as  cold  as  ice— it's  cooled  by  a 


80  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

special  kind  of  refrigerator  I  had  put  in,  which 
consumes  ahout  half  a  ton  of  ice  a  week." 

Jimmiehoy  laughed. 

"It's  a  cold  furnace,  eh?"  he  said. 

"Precisely,"  answered  the  snowman.  "And 
hesides  that  the  house  is  deliciously  draughty 
so  that  we  have  no  difficulty  in  keeping  cold. 
Once  in  a  while  my  hoys  run  in  the  sun  and  get 
warmed  through,  but  I  dose  'em  up  with  ice- 
water  and  cold  cream  and  they  soon  get  chilled 
again.  But  come,  shall  we  go  in?" 

The  pedestrians  had  by  this  time  reached  the 
side  of  the  snow-drift,  and  Jimmieboy  was 
pleased  to  see  a  door  at  one  side  of  it.  This  the 
snowman  opened,  and  they  entered  together  a 
marvelously  beautiful  and  extensive  garden 
glistening  with  frosty  flowers  and  snow- clad 
trees.  At  the  end  of  the  garden  was  a  little  white 
house  that  looked  like  the  icing  on  Jimmieboy 's 
birthday  cake.  As  they  approached  it,  the  door 
of  the  little  house  was  thrown  open  and  a  dozen 
small-sized  snow  boys  rushed  out  and  began  to 
pelt  the  snowman  and  Jimmieboy  with  tennis 
balls. 

"Hold  up,  boys,"  cried  the  snowman.  "I've 
brought  a  friend  home  to  see  you." 

The  boys  stopped  at  once,  and  Jimmieboy  was 


JIMMIEBOY^S  SNOWMAN.  81 

introduced  to  them.  For  hours  they  entertained 
him  in  the  gardens  and  in  the  house.  They 
showed  him  wondrous  snow  toys,  among  which 
were  rocking  horses,  railway  trains,  soldiers 
—all  made  of  the  same  soft  fleecy  substance 
from  which  the  snowman  and  his  children  were 
constructed.  When  he  had  played  for  a  long 
time  with  these  they  gave  him  caramels  and 
taffy  and  cream  cakes,  these  also  made  of  snow, 
though  as  far  as  their  taste  went  they  were  better 
than  those  made  of  sugar  and  chocolate  and 
cream,  or,  at  least,  it  seemed  so  to  Jimmieboy 
at  the  time. 

After  this  bit  of  luncheon  the  boys  invited  him 
out  to  coast,  and  he  went  along  with  them  to 
the  top  of  a  high  hill  without  any  snow  upon  it, 
and  for  hours  he  and  they  slid  from  summit  to 
base  in  great  red-wheeled  wagons.  It  took  his 
breath  away  the  first  time  he  went  down,  but 
when  he  got  used  to  it  he  found  the  sport  de- 
lightful. He  was  glad,  however,  when  a  voice 
from  the  little  white  house  called  to  the  children 
to  return. 

"Come  in  now,  boys,"  it  said.  "It  is  getting 
too  warm  for  you  to  stay  out." 

The  boys  were  obedient  to  the  word  and  they 
all — a  dozen  of  them  at  least — trooped  back  into 


82  HALF- HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

the  house  where  Jimmieboy  was  welcomed  by 
his  friend  the  snowman  again.  The  snowman 
looked  a  little  anxious,  Jimmieboy  thought,  but 
he  supposed  this  was  because  the  littlest  snow- 
boy  had  overheated  himself  at  his  play  and  had 
come  in  minus  two  fingers  and  an  ear.  It  was 
not  this,  however,  that  bothered  him,  as  Jim- 
mieboy found  out  in  a  few  minutes,  for  the  snow- 
man simply  restored  the  missing  fingers  and  the 
ear  by  making  a  new  lot  for  the  little  fellow  out 
of  a  handful  of  snow  he  got  in  the  garden.  Any- 
thing so  easily  replaced  was  not  worth  worry- 
ing over.  The  real  cause  of  his  anxiety  came 
out  when  the  father  of  this  happy  little  family 
of  snow  boys  called  Jimmieboy  to  one  side. 

"  You  must  go  home  right  away,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
sorry,  but  we  have  got  to  fly  just  as  hard  as  we 
can  or  we  are  lost." 

"But "  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Don't  ask  for  reasons,"  returned  the  snow- 
man, gathering  his  little  snowboys  together  and 
rushing  off  with  them  in  tow.  "I  haven't  time  to 
give  them.  Just  read  that  and  you'll  see.  Fare- 
well." 

Then  he  made  off  down  the  garden  path,  and 
as  he  fled  with  his  babies  Jimmieboy  picked  up 
the  thing  the  snowman  had  told  him  to  read, 


JIMMIEBOY' S  SNOWMAN.  83 

and  wandered  back  into  the  house,  holding  it 
in  his  hand.  It  was  only  a  newspaper,  but  at 
the  top  of  the  first  column  was  an  announcement 
in  huge  letters : 

WARM  WAVE  TO-NIGHT. 


WISE   SNOWMEN   WILL    MOVE   NORTH    AT   ONCE. 

When  Jimmieboy  saw  this  he  knew  right 
away  why  he  had  been  deserted,  but  to  this  day 
he  doesn't  know  how  he  knew  it,  because  at  the 
time  this  happened  he  had  not  learned  how  to 
read.  At  all  events  he  discovered  what  the 
trouble  was  instantly,  and  then  he  decided  that 
as  he  had  been  left  by  all  of  his  new  friends  he 
would  go  home.  He  walked  to  the  front  door  and 
opened  it,  and  what  do  you  suppose  it  opened 
into? 

The  garden? 

Not  a  bit  of  it. 

Into  Jimmieboy 's  nursery  itself,  and  when  the 
door  closed  upon  him  after  he  had  stepped 
through  it  into  the  nursery  and  Jimmieboy  turned 
to  look  at  it,  lo,  and  behold  it  wasn't  there! 

Nor  was   the  snowman   to  be  found  the  next 
morning.     It  was  quite  evident  that  he  had  got 
away  from  the  warm  wave  that  appeared  on  the 


84  HA LF-HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

scene  the  night  before,  for  there  wasn't  even  a 
sign  of  the  shoe-button  eyes  or  the  battered  hat, 
as  there  certainly  would  have  been  had  he 
melted  instead  of  run  away. 


THE  BICYCLOP^EDIA  BIRD.  85 


VII. 
THE   BICYCLOP^EDIA   BIRD. 

"TDOO!"  said  something. 

13  And  Jimmieboy  of  course  was  startled. 
So  startled  was  he  that,  according  to  his  own 
statement,  he  jumped  ninety-seven  feet,  though 
for  my  own  part  I  don't  believe  he  really  jumped 
more  than  thirty-three.  He  was  too  sleepy  to 
count  straight  anyhow.  He  had  been  lolling  un- 
der his  canvas  tent  down  near  the  tennis-court 
all  the  afternoon,  getting  lazier  and  lazier  every 
minute,  and  finally  he  had  turned  over  square 
on  his  back,  put  his  head  on  a  small  cushion  his 
mamma  had  made  for  him,  closed  his  eyes,  and 
then  came  the  "Boo!" 

"I  wonder—"  he  said,  as  lie  gazed  about  him, 
seeing  no  sign  of  any  creature  that  could  by 
any  possibility  say  "Boo!"  however. 


86  HALF-HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  F. 

"Of  course  you  do.  That's  why  I've  come,"  in- 
terrupted a  voice  from  the  bushes.  "  More  chil- 
dren of  your  age  suffer  from  the  wonders  than 
from  measles,  mumps,  or  canthaves." 

"What  are  canthaves?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"Canthaves  are  things  you  can't  have.  Don't 
you  ever  suffer  because  you  can't  have  things?" 
queried  the  voice. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed !"  returned  Jimmieboy.  "  Lots 
and  lots  of  times." 

"And  didn't  you  ever  have  the  wonders  so 
badly  that  you  got  cross  and  wouldn't  eat  any- 
thing but  sweet  things  for  dinner?"  the  voice 
asked. 

"I  don't  know  exactly  what  you  mean  by  the 
wonders,"  replied  Jimmieboy. 

"Why,  wonders  is  a  disease  that  attacks  boys 
who  want  to  know  why  things  are  and  can't 
find  out,"  said  the  voice. 

"Oh,  my,  yes  I've  had  that  lots  of  times," 
laughed  Jimmieboy.  "Why,  only  this  morning 
I  asked  my  papa  why  there  weren't  any  dande- 
lionesses,  and  he  wouldn't  tell  me  because  he 
said  he  had  to  catch  a  train,  and  I've  been  won- 
dering why  ever  since." 

"I  thought  you'd  had  it;  all  boys  do  get  it 
sooner  or  later,  and  it's  a  thing  you  can  have 


THE  BICYCLOP^EDIA  BIRD.  87 

any  number  of  times  unless  you  have  me 
around,"  said  the  voice. 

"What  are  you  anyhow?"   asked   Jimmieboy. 

"I'm  what  they  call  the  Bicyclopsedia  Bird. 
I'm  a  regular  owl  for  wisdom.  I  know  everv- 
thing — just  like  the  Cyclopaedia;  and  I  have  two 
wheels  instead  of  legs,  which  is  why  they  call  me 
the  Bicyclopsedia  Bird.  I  can't  let  you  see  me, 
because  these  are  not  my  office  hours.  I  can 
only  be  seen  between  ten  and  two  on  the  thirty- 
second  of  March  every  seventeenth  year.  You 
can  get  a  fair  idea  of  what  I  look  like  from  my 
photograph,  though." 

As  the  voice  said  this,  sure  enough  a  photo- 
graph did  actually  pop  out  of  the  bush,  and 
land  at  Jimmieboy 's  feet.  He  sprang  for- 
ward eagerly,  stooped,  and  picking  it  up,  gazed 
earnestly  at  it.  And  a  singular  creature  the  Bi- 
cyclopaedia  Bird  must  have  been  if  the  photo- 
graph did  him  justice.  He  had  the  head  of  an 
owl,  but  his  body  was  oblong  in  shape,  just  like 
a  book,  and,  as  the  voice  had  said,  in  place  of  legs 
were  two  wheels  precisely  like  those  of  a  bicycle. 
The  effect  was  rather  pleasing,  but  so  funny  that 
Jimmieboy  really  wanted  to  laugh.  He  did  not 
laugh,  however,  for  fear  of  hurting  the  Bird's 
feelings,  which  the  Bird  noticed  and  appreciated. 


88 


HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 


"Thank  you,"  he  said,  simply. 
"What  for?"   asked    Jimmieboy,    looking  up 
from  the  photograph,  and  peering  into  the   bush 


PHOTOGRAPHS 

89*5  MI  IKY  "WAY 


in   the  vain   hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  the 
Bird  itself. 

"For  not  laughing,"  replied  the   Bird.  "If  you 


THE  BICYCLOPJEDIA  BIRD.  89 

had  laughed  I  should  have  hiked  away  at  once 
because  I  am  of  no  value  to  any  one  who  laughs 
at  my  personal  appearance.  It  always  makes 
me  forget  all  I  know,  and  that  does  me  up  for  a 
whole  year.  If  I  forget  all  I  know,  you  see,  I 
have  to  study  hard  to  learn  it  all  over  again, 
and  that's  a  tremendous  job,  considering  how 
much  knowledge  there  is  fco  be  had  in  the  world. 
So  you  see,  by  being  polite  and  kind  enough 
not  to  laugh  at  me,  who  can't  help  being  funny 
to  look  at,  and  who  am  not  to  blame  for  looking 
that  way,  because  I  am  not  a  self-made  Bird, 
you  are  really  the  gainer,  for  I  promise  you 
I'll  tell  you  anything  jou  want  to  know." 

"That's  very  nice  of  you,"  returned  Jimmie- 
boy;  "and  perhaps,  to  begin  with,  you'll  tell  me 
something  that  I  ought  to  want  to  know, 
whether  I  do  or  not." 

"That  is  a  very  wise  idea,"  said  the  Bicyclo- 
paedia  Bird,  "and  I'll  try  to  do  it.  Let  me  see; 
now,  do  you  know  why  the  Pollywog  is  always 
amiable?" 

"No,"  returned  Jimmieboy.  "I  never  even 
knew  that  he  was,  and  so  couldn't  really  won- 
der why." 

"But  you  wonder  why  now,  don't  you?"  asked 
the  voice,  anxiously.  "For  if  you  don't,  I  can't 
tell  vou." 


90  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEEOY. 

"I'm  just  crazy  to  know,"  Jimmieboy  re- 
sponded. 

"Then  listen,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  said  the 
voice.  And  then  the  strange  bird  recited  this 
poem  about 

THE  POLLYWOG. 

"The  Polly wog'd  a  perfect  type 

Of  amiability. 
He  never  uses  angry  speech 

Wherever  he  may  be. 
He  never  calls  his  brother  names, 

Or  tweaks  his  sister's  no.se  ; 
He  never  pulls  the  sea-dog's  tail, 

Or  treads  upon  his  toes. 

"He  never  says  an  unkind  word, 

And  frown  he  never  will. 
A  smile  is  ever  on  his  lips, 

E'en  when  he's  feeling  ill. 
And  this  is  why  :  when  Polly  wog 

The  first  came  on  the  scene, 
He  had  a  temper  like  a  cat's— 

His  eye  with  it  was  green. 

"Now,  just  about  the  time  when  he 

Began  to  lose  his  tail, 
To  change  into  a  croaking  frog, 

He  came  across  a  nail — 
A  nail  so  rusty  that  it  looked 

Just  like  an  angle-worm, 
Except  that  it  was  straight  and  stiff, 

And  so  could  never  squirm. 


THE  BICYCLOP^DIA  BIRD.  91 

"And  Polly,  feeling  hungry,  to 

Assuage  his  appetite, 
Swam  boldly  up  to  that  old  nail, 

And  gave  it  such  a  bite, 
He  nearly  broke  his  upper  jaw  ; 

His  lower  jaw  he  bent. 
And  then  he  got  so  very  mad, 

His  temper  simply  went. 

"He  lost  it  so  completely  as 

He  lashed  and  gnashed  around, 
That  tnough  this  happened  years  ngo, 

It  has  not  since  been  found. 
And  that  is  why,  at  all  times,  in 

The  Polly  wog  you  see, 
A  model  of  that  virtue  rare — 

True  Amiability." 

"  Now,  I  dare  say,"  continued  the  Bird — "  I  dare 
say  you  might  have  asked  your  father — who 
really  knows  a  great  deal,  considering  he  isn't 
my  twin  brother — sixteen  million  four  hundred 
arid  twenty-three  times  why  the  Polly  wog  is  al- 
ways so  good-natured,  and  he  couldn't  have  an- 
swered you  more  than  once  out  of  the  whole  lot, 
and  he'd  have  been  wrong  even  then." 

"It  must  be  lovely  to  know  co  much,"  said 
Jimmieboy. 

"It  is,"  said  the  Bird;  "that  is,  it  is  lovely 
when  you  don't  have  to  keep  it  all  to  yourself. 
It's  very  nice  to  tell  things.  That's  really  the 


92  HA  LF-HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

best  part  of  secrets,  I  think.  It  is  such  fun  tell- 
ing them.  Now,  why  does  the  sun  rise  in  the 
morning" 

"I  don't  know.   Why?" 

"For  the  same  reason  that  you  do,"  returned 
the  sage  Bird.  "Because  it  is  time  to  get  up." 

"Well,  here's  a  thing  I  don't  know  about," 
said  Jimmieboy.  "What  is  'to  alarm?'" 

"To  frighten— to  scare— to  discombobulate," 
replied  the  Bird.  "Why?" 

"Well,  I  don't  see  why  an  alarm-clock  is  called 
an  alarm-clock,  because  it  doesn't  ever  alarm 
anybody,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Oh,  it  doesn't,  eh?"  cried  the  Bird.  "Well, 
that's  just  where  you  are  mistaken.  It  alarms 
the  people  or  the  animals  you  dream  about  when 
you  are  asleep,  and  they  make  such  a  noise  get- 
ting away  that  they  wake  you  up.  Why,  an 
alarm-clock  saved  my  life  once.  I  dreamed  that 
I  fell  asleep  on  board  a  steamboat  that  went  so 
fast  hardly  anybody  could  stay  on  board  of  her 
—she  just  regularly  slipped  out  from  under  their 
feet,  and  unless  a  passenger  could  run  fa.st 
enough  to  keep  up  with  her,  or  was  chained  fast 
enough  to  keep  aboard  of  her,  he'd  get  dropped 
astern  every  single  time.  I  dreamed  I  was  aboard 
of  her  one  day,  and  that  to  keep  on  deck  I 


THE  BICYCLOPJEDIA  BIRD.  93 

chained  myself  to  the  smoke-stack,  and  then 
dozed  off.  Just  as  I  was  dozing,  a  Misinforma- 
tion Bird,  who  was  jealous  of  me,  sneaked  up 
and  cut  the  chain.  As  he  expected,  the  minute 
I  was  cut  loose  the  boat  rushed  from  under  me, 
and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was  struggling  in  the 
water.  While  I  was  struggling  there,  I  was  at- 
tacked by  a  Catfish.  Cats  are  death  to  birds, 
you  know,  and  I  really  had  given  myself  up  for 
lost,  when  '  ting-a~Ung-a-ling-a-Ung'  went  the 
alarm-clock  in  the  corner  of  my  cage;  the  fish 
turned  blue  with  fear,  swished  his  tail  about  in 
his  fright,  and  the  splashing  of  the  water  waked 
me  up,  and  there  1  was  standing  on  one  wheel  on 
my  perch,  safe  and  sound.  If  that  clock  hadn't 
gone  off  and  alarmed  that  Catfish,  I  am  afraid 
I  should  have  been  forever  lost  to  the  world." 

"  I  see  now ;  but  I  never  knew  before  Avhy  it  was 
called  an  alarm-clock,  and  I've  wondered  about 
it  a  good  deal,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "Now,  here's 
another  thing  I've  bothered  over  many  a  time: 
What's  the  use  of  weeds?" 

"Oh,  that's  easy,"  said  the  Bird,  with  a  laugh. 
"To  make  lawns  look  prettier  next  year  than 
they  do  this." 

"I  don't  see  how  that  is,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Clear  as  window-glass.  This  year  you.  have 
weeds  on  your  lawn,  don't  you?" 


94  HALF-HO  UES  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

"Yes,"  returned  Jimmieboy. 

"And  you  make  them  get  out,  don't  you?"  said 
the  Bird. 

"Yes,"  assented  Jimmieboy. 

"  Well,  there  you  are.  By  getting  out  they 
make  your  lawns  prettier.  That's  one  of  the 
simplest  things  in  the  world.  But  here's  a  thing 
I  should  think  you'd  wonder  at.  Why  do  houses 
have  shutters  on  their  windows?"  asked  the  Bird. 

"I  know  why,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "It's  to  keep 
the  sun  out." 

"  That's  nonsense,  because  the  sun  is  so  much 
larger  than  any  house  that  was  ever  built  it 
couldn't  get  in  if  it  tried,"  returned  the  feathered 
sage. 

"Then  I  don't  know  why.  Why?"  asked  Jim- 
mieboy. 

"  So  as  to  wake  people  up  by  banging  about  on 
windy  nights,  and  they  are  a  mighty  useful  in- 
vention too,"  said  the  Bird.  "I  knew  of  a  whole 
family  that  got  blown  away  once  just  because 
they  hadn't  any  shutters  to  bang  about  and  warn 
them  of  their  danger.  It  was  out  in  the  West, 
where  they  have  cyclones,  which  are  things  that 
pick  up  houses  and  toss  them  about  just  as  you 
would  pebbles.  A  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Podlington  had 
built  a  house  in  the  middle  of  a  big  field  for 


THE  EICYCLOPJEDIA  BIRD.  95 

themselves  and  their  seventeen  children.  Mr. 
Podlington  was  very  rich,  but  awful  mean,  and 
when  the  house  was  finished,  all  except  the  shut- 
ters, he  said  he  wasn't  going  to  have  any  shut- 
ters because  they  cost  too  much,  and  so  they 
hadn't  a  shutter  on  the  house.  One  night  after 
they  had  lived  where  they  were  about  six  months 
they  all  went  to  bed  about  nine  o'clock,  and  by 
ten  they  were  sound  asleep,  every  one  of  them. 
At  eleven  o'clock  a  breeze  sprang  up.  This 
grew  very  shortly  into  a  gale.  Then  it  be- 
came a  hurricane,  and  by  two  o'clock  it  was  a 
cyclone.  One  cyclone  wouldn't  have  hurt  much, 
but  at  three  o'clock  two  more  came  along,  and 
the  first  thing  the  Podlington  family  knew  their 
house  was  blown  off  its  foundations,  lifted  high 
up  in  the  air,  and  at  breakfast-time  was  out  of 
sight,  and,  what  is  worse,  it  has  never  come 
down  anywhere,  and  all  this  happened  ten  years 
ago." 

"But  where  did  it  go?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"Nobody  knows.  Maybe  it  landed  in  the  moon. 
Maybe  it's  being  blown  about  on  the  wings  of 
those  cyclones  yet.  I  don't  believe  we'll  ever 
know,"  answered  the  Bird.  "But  you  can  see 
just  why  that  all  happened.  It  was  Mr.  Podling- 
ton's  meanness  about  the  shutters,  and  nothing 


96  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

else.  If  lie  had  had  shutters  on  that  house,  at 
least  one  of  them  would  have  flopped  bangety- 
hang  against  the  house  all  night,  and  the  chances 
are  that  they  would  all  have  been  waked  up  by 
it  before  the  cyclone  came,  and  in  plenty  of  time 
to  save  themselves.  In  fact,  I  think  very  likely 
they  could  have  fastened  the  house  more  secure- 
ly to  the  ground,  and  saved  it  too,  if  they  had 
waked  up  and  seen  what  was  going  on." 

•'I'll  .never  build  a  house  without  shutters," 
said  Jimmieboy,  as  he  tried  to  fancy  the  con- 
dition of  the  Podlingtons  whisking  about  in  the 
air  for  ten  long  years— nearly  five  years  longer 
than  he  himself  had  lived.  If  they  had  landed 
in  the  moon  it  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad,  but 
this  other  possible  and  even  more  likely  fate  of 
mounting  on  the  wind  ever  higher  and  higher  and 
not  landing  anywhere  was  simply  dreadful  to 
think  about. 

"  I  wouldn't,  especially  in  the  cyclone  country," 
returned  the  voice  in  the  bush.  "But  I'll  tell 
you  of  one  thing  that  would  save  you  if  you 
really  did  have  to  build  a  house  without  shutters; 
build  it  with  wings.  You've  heard  of  houses 
with  wings,  of  course?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "Why,  our 
house  has  three  wings.  One  of  'em  was  put  on  it 


THE  BICYCLOP^EDIA  BIRD.  97 


NJ^VER  BUILD  A  HOIJSK  WITUOUT  SHUTTERS. 


98  HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

last  summer,  so  that  we  could  have  a  bigger  kit- 
chen." 

"I  remember,"  said  the  Bird.  "I  wondered  a 
good  deal  about  that  wing  until  I  found  out  it 
was  for  a  kitchen,  and  not  to  fly  with.  The  house 
had  enough  wings  to  fly  with  without  the  new 
one.  In  fact,  the  new  one  for  flying  purposes 
would  be  as  useless  as  a  third  wheel  to  a  bi- 
cycle." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  to  fly  with?"  asked 
Jimmieboy,  puzzled  at  this  absurd  remark  of  the 
Bird. 

"Exactly  what  I  say.  Wings  are  meant  to 
fly  with,  aren't  they?  I  hope  you  knew  that!" 
said  the  Bird.  "So  if  the  Podlingtons'  house  had 
had  wings  it  might  have  got  back  all  right.  It 
could  have  worked  its  way  slowly  out  of  the  cy- 
clone, and  then  sort  of  rested  on  its  wings  a  little 
until  it  was  prepared  to  swoop  down  on  to  its 
old  foundations,  alighting  just  where  it  was  be- 
fore. A  trip  through  the  air  under  such  circum- 
stances would  have  been  rather  pleasant,  I  think 
— much  pleasanter  than  going  off  into  the  air 
forever,  without  any  means  of  getting  back." 

"But,"  asked  Jimmieboy,  "even  if  Mr.  Podling- 
ton's  house  had  had  wings,  how  could  he  have 
made  them  work?" 


THE  EICYCLOPMDIA  BIRD.  99 

"Why,  how  stupid  of  you!"  cried  the  Bird. 
"Don't  you  know  that  he  could  have  taken  hold 
of  the " 

"Ting-a-ling-a-ling  a-ling-a-ling!"  rang  the 
alarm-clock  up  in  the  cook's  room,  which  had 
heen  set  for  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  instead 
of  for  six  in  the  morning  by  some  odd  mistake 
of  Mary  Ann's. 

"The  alarm!  The  alarm!"  shrieked  the  Bird, 
in  terror. 

And  then  the  invisible  creature,  if  Jimmieboy 
could  judge  by  the  noise  in  the  bush,  seemed  to 
make  off  as  fast  as  he  could  go,  his  cries  of  fear 
growing  fainter  and  fainter  as  the  wise  Bird  got 
farther  and  farther  away,  until  finally  they  died 
away  in  the  distance  altogether. 

Jimmieboy  sprang  to  his  feet,  looked  down  the 
road  along  which  his  strange  friend  had  fled,  and 
then  walked  into  the  house,  wishing  that  the 
alarm-clock  had  held  off  just  a  little  longer,  so 
that  he  might  have  learned  how  the  wings  of  a 
house  should  be  managed  to  make  the  house  fly 
off  into  ths  air.  He  really  felt  as  if  he  would 
like  to  try  the  experiment  with  his  own  house. 


100          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 


VIII. 

GIANT  THE  JACK    KILLER. 

JIMMIEBOY  was  turning  over  the  pages  of 
his  fairy  book  the  other  night,  trying  to  re- 
fresh his  memory  concerning  the  marvelous  do- 
ings of  the  fairy-land  people  by  looking  at  the 
pictures.  His  papa  was  too  tired  to  read  to  him, 
and  as  no  one  else  in  the  house  was  willing  to 
undertake  the  task,  the  boy  was  doing  his  best 
to  entertain  himself,  and  as  it  happened  he  got 
more  out  of  his  own  efforts  than  he  ever  derived 
from  the  efforts  of  others.  He  had  dallied  long 
over  the  weird  experiences  of  Cinderella,  and  had 
just  turned  over  the  pages  which  lead  up  to  the 
story  of  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  when  something 
in  the  picture  of  the  Giant's  castle  seemed  to 
move. 
Looking  a  little  more  closely  at  the  picture  in 


GIANT  THE  JACK  KILLER.  101 

a  startled  sort  of  way,  Jimmieboy  saw  that  the 
moving  thing  was  the  knob  of  the  castle  door, 
and  in  a  jiffy  the  door  itself  opened,  and  a  huge 
homely  creature  whom  Jimmieboy  recognized 
at  once  as  an  ogre  stuck  his  head  out.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  little  fellow  felt  disposed  to  cry  for  help. 
Surely  if  the  Giant  could  open  the  door  in  the 
picture  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
step  out  of  the  book  entirely  and  make  a  speedy 
meal  of  Jimmieboy,  who,  realizing  that  he^  was 
entirely  unarmed,  was  inclined  to  run  and  hide 
behind  his  papa's  back.  His  fast  oozing  courage 
was  quickly  restored,  however,  by  the  Giant 
himself,  who  winked  at  him  in  a  genial  sort  of 
fashion  as  much  as  to  say:  "Nonsense,  boy,  I 
wouldn't  eat  you,  if  I  could."  The  wink  he  fol- 
lowed up  at  once  with  a  smile,  and  then  he  said  : 

"That  you,  Jimmieboy?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Jimmieboy,  very  civilly  in- 
deed. "I'm  me.  Are  you  you?" 

The  Giant  laughed. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "and  so,  of  course,  we  are 
ourselves.  Are  you  very  busy?" 

"Not  very,"  said  Jimmieboy.     "Why?" 

"I  want  a  little  advice  from  you,"  the  Giant 
answered.  "  I  think  it's  about  time  the  tables 
were  turned  on  that  miserable  little  ruffian  Jack. 


102          HALF -HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

The  idea  of  a  big  thing  like  me  being  killed 
every  day  of  his  life  by  a  mosquito  like  Jack  is 
very  tiresome,  and  I  want  to  know  if  you  don't 
think  it  would  be  fair  if  I  should  kill  him  just 
once  for  the  sake  of  variety.  It  won't  hurt  him. 
He'll  come  to  life  again  right  away  just  as  we 
Giants  do— 

"Don't  you  stay  dead  when  Jack  kills  you?" 
asked  Jimmieboy. 

"You  know  the  answer  to  that  as  well  as  I 
do,"  said  the  Giant.  "You've  had  this  story  read 
to  you  every  day  now  for  three  years,  haven't 
you?" 

"About  that,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"  Well,  if  we  staid  dead  how  do  you  suppose 
we'd  be  on  hand  to  be  killed  again  the  next  time 
you  had  the  story  read  to  you?" 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"  Never  thought  of  it?"  echoed  the  ogre.  "  Why, 
what  kind  of  thoughts  do  you  think,  anyhow? 
It's  the  only  thought  for  a  thinker  to  think  I 
think,  don't  you  think  so?" 

"Say  that  again,  will  you?"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Couldn't  possibly,"  said  the  ogre.  "In  fact, 
I've  forgotten  it.  But  what  do  you  think  of  my 
scheme?  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  wise  if  I 
killed  Jack  just  once?" 


GIA.NT  THE  JACK  KILLER.  103 

"Perhaps  it  would,"  sail  the  boy.  "That  is  if 
it  wouldn't  hurt  him." 

"Hurt  him?  Didn't  I  tell  you  it  wouldn't  hurt 
him?"  said  the  Giant.  "  I  wouldn't  hurt  that  boy 
for  all  the  world.  If  I  did  I'd  lose  my  position. 
Why,  all  I  am  I  owe  to  him.  The  fairy  people 
let  me  live  in  this  magnificent  castle  for  nothing. 
They  let  me  rob  them  of  all  their  property,  and 
all  I  have  to  do  in  return  for  this  is  to  be  killed 
by  Jack  whenever  any  little  boy  or  girl  in  your 
world  desires  to  be  amused  by  a  tragedy  of  that 
sort.  So  you  see  I  haven't  any  hard  feelings 
against  him,  even  if  I  did  call  him  a  miserable 
little  ruffian." 

"Well,  I  don't  exactly  like  to  have  Jack 
killed,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I've  always  rather 
liked  him.  What  do  you  suppose  he  would  say 
to  it?" 

"  That's  just  the  point.  I  wouldn't  kill  him  un- 
less he  was  willing.  That  would  be  a  violation  of 
my  agreement  with  him,  and  when  he  came  to 
he  might  sue  me  for  what  the  lawyers  call  a 
breach  of  contract,"  said  the  ogre.  "Now,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  if  you  were  to  go  to  Jack  and 
tell  him  that  you  were  getting  a  little  tired  of 
having  this  story  end  the  way  it  does  all  the 
time,  and  that  you  thought  it  only  fair  to  me 


104         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

that  I  should  have  a  chance  to  celebrate  a  vic- 
tory, say  once  a  week — every  Saturday  night 
for  instance — he'd  be  willing  to  do  it." 

"  Where  can  I  find  him"  asked  Jimmieboy.  "  I 
just  as  lief  ask  him." 

"He's  in  the  picture,  two  pages  farther  along, 
sharpening  his  sword,"  said  the  ogre. 

"Very  well,  I'll  go  see  him  at  once,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy. Then  he  said  good-by  to  the  Giant,  and 
turned  over  the  pages  until  he  came  to  the  pic- 
tures showing  how  Jack  sharpened  his  sword  on 
the  soles  of  the  shoes  of  another  giant,  whom 
he  had  bound  and  strapped  to  the  floor. 

At  first  Jimmieboy  did  not  know  how  to  ad- 
dress him.  He  had  often  spoken  to  the  figures 
in  the  pictures,  but  they  had  never  replied  to 
anything  he  had  said.  However,  he  made  a  be- 
ginning. 

"Ahem!"  he  said. 

The  effect  was  pleasing,  for  as  he  said  this 
Jack  stopped  sharpening  his  blade  and  turned 
to  see  who  had  spoken. 

"Ah,  Jimmieboy!"  said  the  small  warrior. 
"Howdy  do.  Haven't  seen  much  of  you  this 
week.  You've  been  paying  more  attention  to 
Hop  o'  My  Thumb  than  to  me  lately." 

"Well,  I  love  you  just  the  same,"  said  Jimmie- 


GIANT  THE  JACK  KILLER.  105 

boy.  "  I've  just  seen  the  Giant  that  lives  up  in 
the  castle  with  the  dragon  on  the  front  stoop." 

"He's  a  good  fellow/'  said  Jack.  "I'm  very 
fond  of  him.  He  never  gives  me  any  trouble, 
and  dies  just  as  easy  as  if  he  were  falling  off  a 
log,  and  out  of  business  hours  we're  great  chums. 
He's  had  something  on  his  mind  lately,  though, 
that  I  don't  understand.  He  says  being  killed 
every  day  is  getting  monotonous." 

"That's  what  he  said  to  me,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Well,  I  hope  he  doesn't  resign  his  position," 
said  Jack,  thoughtfully.  "I  know  it  isn't  in 
every  way  a  pleasant  one,  but  he  might  go  far- 
ther and  fare  worse.  The  way  I  kill  him  is  pain- 
less, but  if  he  got  into  that  Bean-staik  boy's 
hands  he'd  be  all  bruised  up.  You  can't  fall  a 
mile  without  getting  hurt,  you  know,  and  I  like 
the  old  fellow  too  well  to  have  him  go  over  to 
that  Bean-stalk  cousin  of  mine." 

"He  likes  you,  too,"  said  Jimmieboy,  pleased 
to  find  that  there  was  so  much  good  feeling  be- 
tween the  two  creatures.  "  But  he  thinks  he  ought 
to  get  a  chance  to  win  once  in  a  while.  He  said 
if  he  could  arrange  it  with  you  to  have  him  kill 
you  once  a  week — Saturday  nights,  for  instance 
—he'd  be  perfectly  contented. 

"That's   reasonable  enough,"   said  Jack,  nod- 


106         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

ding  his  head   approvingly.     "Did  he  say  how 
he  would  like  to  do  it?" 

"No,  only  that  he'd  kill  you  tenderly,  so  that 
you  wouldn't  suffer,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Oh,  I  know  that1."  said  Jack,  softly.  "He's 
too  tender-hearted  to  hurt  anybody.  I'm  very 
much  inclined  to  agree  to  the  proposition,  but  he 
must  let  me  choose  the  manner  of  the  killing. 
He  hasn't  had  much  practice  killing  people,  and 
if  he  were  to  do  it  by  hitting  me  on  the  head 
with  a  stick  of  wood  I'd  be  likely  to  wake  up 
with  a  headache  next  day;  neither  should  I  like 
to  be  smothered  because  while  that  doesn't 
bruise  one  or  break  any  bones  its  awfully  stuffy, 
and  if  there's  one  thing  I  like  it  is  fresh  air." 

"Perhaps  he  might  eat  you,"  suggested  Jim- 
mieboy. 

"He  isn't  big  enough  to  do  that  comfortably," 
said  Jack,  shaking  his  head.  "He'd  have  to  cut 
me  up  and  chew  me,  because  his  throat  isn't 
large  enough  for  him  to  swallow  me  at  one  gulp. 
But  I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do.  You  go  back 
to  him,  and  tell  him  that  I'll  agree  to  his  proposi- 
tion, if  he'll  have  me  cooked  in  a  plum-pudding 
four  hundred  feet  in  circumference.  I'm  very 
fond  of  plum-pudding,  and  while  he  is  eating  it 
from  the  outside  I  could  be  eating  it  from  the  in- 


GIANT  THE  JACK  KILLER.  J07 

side,  and,  of  course,  I  shouldn't  be  burned  in  the 
cooking,  because  in  the  middle  of  a  pudding  of 
that  size  the  heat  never  could  reach  me." 

"But  when  he  reached  you,"  said  Jimmieboy, 
"you'd  have  the  same  trouble  you  said  you'd 
have  if  he  ate  you  up.  He'd  have  to  cut  you  to 
pieces  and  chew  you." 

"Ah!"  said  Jack,  "don't  you  see  my  point?  By 
the  time  he  reached  me  he  would  have  eaten  so 
much  plum-pudding  that  he  wouldn't  have  room 
for  me.  so  I'd  escape." 

"But,  then,  you  wouldn't  be  killed,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy. 

"That  wouldn't  make  any  difference,"  said 
Jack.  "We'd  stop  the  story  before  I  escaped  and 
everybody  would  think  I'd  been  eaten  up,  and 
that's  all  he  wants.  He  just  wants  to  seem  to 
win  once.  He  doesn't  really  care  about  killing 
me  dead.  Don't  you  see." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "and  I'll 
go  back  and  tell  him  what  you  say." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jack.  "And  while  you  are 
there  give  him  my  love,  and  tell  him  I'll  be 
around  to  kill  him  as  usual  after  tea." 

All  of  which  Jimmieboy  did  and  the  Giant 
readily  agreeing  to  the  plum-pudding  scheme, 
said  good-night  to  his  little  visitor,  and  retired 
into  the  castle,  closing  the  door  after  him. 


108         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

Then  Jimmieboy  went  to  bed  in  a  great  hurry, 
because  he  knew  how  sleep  made  time  seem 
shorter  than  it  really  was,  and  he  was  very  anx- 
ious to  have  Saturday  night  come  around  so  that 
he  could  see  how  the  new  ending  to  the  story  of 
Jack  the  Giant  Killer  worked. 

As  yet  that  Saturday  night  has  not  turned  up, 
so  that  I  really  cannot  tell  you  whether  or  not 
the  arrangement  was  a  success. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS.       109 


IX. 

JIMMIEBOY   AND    THE   FIREWORKS. 

THERE  was  whispering  going  on  somewhere, 
and  Jimmieboy  felt  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
find  out  where  it  was,  who  it  was  that  was  doing 
it,  and  what  it  was  that  was  being  whispered. 
It  was  about  an  hour  after  supper  on  the  evening 
of  July  3d  when  it  all  happened.  A  huge  box 
full  of  fireworks  had  arrived  only  a  few  hours 
before,  and  Jimmieboy  was  somewhat  afraid 
thafc  the  whisperings  might  have  come  from  bur- 
glars who,  knowing  that  there  were  thirty-five 
rockets,  twenty  Roman  candles,  colored  lights 
by  the  dozen,  and  no  end  of  torpedoes  and  fire- 
crackers and  other  things  in  the  house,  had 
come  to  steal  them,  and,  if  he  could  help  himself, 
Jimmieboy  was  not  going  to  allow  that.  So  he 
began  to  search  about,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he 


110          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

had  located  the  whisperers  in  the  very  room  at 
the  foot  of  the  back  stairs  in  which  the  fireworks 
were.  His  little  heart  almost  stopped  beating  for 
a  moment  when  he  realized  this.  It  isn't  pleas- 
ant to  feel  that  perhaps  you  will  be  deprived, 
after  all,  of  something  you  have  looked  forward 
to  for  a  whole  month,  and  upon  the  very  eve  of 
the  fulfillment  of  your  dearest  hopes  at  that. 

"I'll  have  to  tell  papa  about  this,"  he  said; 
and  then,  realizing  that  his  papa  was  not  at 
home,  and  that  his  mamma  was  up  stairs  trying 
to  convince  his  small  brother  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  get  the  moon  into  the  nursery,  al- 
though it  looked  much  smaller  even  than  the 
nursery  window,  Jimmieboy  resolved  that  he 
would  take  the  matter  in  hand  himself. 

"A  boygler  wouldn't  hurt  me,  and  maybe  if  I 
talk  gruff  and  keep  out  of  sight,  he'll  think  I'm 
papa  and  run,"  he  said. 

Then  he  tried  his  gruff  voice,  and  it  really  was 
tremendously  gruff — about  as  gruff  as  the  bark 
of  a  fox-terrier.  After  he  had  done  this,  he  tip- 
toed softly  down  the  stairs  until  he  stood  directly 
opposite  the  door  of  the  room  where  the  fire- 
works were. 

"Move  on,  you  boygler  you!"  he  cried,  just  as 
he  thought  his  father  would  have  said  it. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS.       Ill 

The  answer  was  an  explosion — not  exactly  of 
fireworks,  but  of  mirth. 

"  He  thinks  somebody's  trying  to  steal  us,"  said 
a  funny  little  voice,  the  like  of  which  Jimmie- 
boy  had  never  heard  before. 

"How  siss-siss-sissingular  of  him,"  said  another 
voice  that  sounded  like  a  fire-cracker  missing 
fire. 


THE  GIANT  CRACKER  SINGING  HIS  SONG. 

"He  thinks  he  can  fool  us  by  imitating  the 
voice  of  his  pop-pop-pop-popper,"  put  in  a  third 
voice,  witli  a  laugh. 

At  which  Jimmieboy  opened  the  door  and 
looked  in,  and  then  he  saw  whence  the  whisper- 
ing had  come,  and  to  say  that  he  was  surprised 
at  what  he  saw  is  a  too  mild  way  of  putting  it. 


112         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBO Y. 

He  was  so  astonished  that  he  lost  all  control  over 
his  joints,  and  the  first  thing  he  knew  he  was  sit- 
ting on  the  floor.  The  spectacle  had,  in  fact, 
knocked  him  over,  as  well  it  might,  for  there, 
walking  up  and  down  the  floor,  swarming  over 
chairs  and  tables,  playing  pranks  with  each 
other,  and  acting  in  a  generally  strange  fashion, 
were  the  fire-works  themselves.  It  was  interest- 
ing, and  at  the  same  time  alarming,  for  one  or 
two  reckless  sk)  -rockets  were  smoking,  a  lot  of 
foolish  little  fire-crackers  were  playing  with 
matches  in  one  corner,  and  a  number  of  the 
great  big  cannon  torpedoes  wei\e  balancing  them- 
selves on  the  arms. of  the  gas-fixture,  utterly 
heedless  of  the  fact  that  if  they  were  to  fall  to  the 
floor  they  would  explode  and  be  done  for  forever. 

"Hullo,  Jimmieboy!"  said  one  of  the  larger 
rockets,  taking  off  his  funny  little  cap  at  the  as- 
tonished youngster.  "I  suppose  you've  come 
down  to  see  us  rehearse?" 

"I  thought  somebody  was  stealing  you,  and  I 
came  down  to  frighten  them  away,"  Jimmieboy 
replied. 

The  Rocket  laughed.  "Nobody  can  steal  us," 
it  said.  "If  anybody  came  to  steal  us,  we'd  cry? 
and  get  so  soaked  with  tears  nobody  could  get 
us  to  go  off,  so  what  good  would  we  be?" 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS.       113 

"Not  much,  I  guess,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"That's  the  answer,"  returned  the  .Rocket. 
"You  seem  to  be  good  at  riddles.  Let  me  give 
you  another.  What's  the  difference  between  a 
man  who  steals  a  whole  wig  and  a  fire-cracker?" 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Jimmieboy,  still 
too  full  of  wonderment  to  think  out  an  answer 
to  a  riddle  like  that. 

"Why,  one  goes  off  with  a  whole  head  of 
hair,"  said  the  Rocket,  "and  the  other  goes  off 
only  with  a  bang." 

"That's  good,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "Make  it  up 
yourself?" 

"No,"  said  the  Rocket.  "I  got  that  out  of  the 
magazine." 

"What  magazine?"  asked  Jimmieboy,  inno- 
cently. 

"The  powder-magazine,"  roared  the  Rocket, 
and  then  the  Pin  Wheel  and  other  fire-works 
danced  about,  and  threw  themselves  on  the  floor 
with  laughter — all  except  the  Torpedoes,  which 
jumped  up  and  down  on  a  soft  plush  chair,  where 
they  were  safe. 

When  the  laughter  over  the  Rocket's  wit 
had  subsided,  one  of  the  Roman  Candles  called 
to  the  Giant  Cracker,  and  asked  him  to  sing  r, 
song  for  Jimmieboy. 


114         HALF-HOURS  WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 

"I  can't  sing  to-night,"  said  the  Cracker. 
"I'm  very  busy  making  ready  my  report  for  to- 
morrow." 

Here  the  Cracker  winked  at  Jimmieboy,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "How  is  that  for  a  joke?" 
Whereat  Jimmieboy  winked  back  to  show  that 
he  thought  it  wasn't  bad;  which  so  pleased  the 
Cracker  that  he  said  he  guessed,  after  all,  he 
would  sing  his  song  if  the  little  Crackers  would 
stop  playing  until  he  got  through.  The  little 
Crackers  promised,  and  the  Giant  Cracker  sang 
this  song: 

"THE   GIANT  CRACKER    AND  THE  MANDARIN'S 
DAUGHTER. 

"  He  was  a  Giant  Cracker  bold, 

His  name  was  Wing-Hi-Ee. 
He  wore  a  dress  of  red  and  gold — 

Was  handsome  as  could  be. 
His  master  was  a  Mandarin, 

Who  lived  in  old  Shang-Hai, 
And  had  a  daughter  named  Ah  Din, 

With  sweet  blue  almond  eye. 

"  Now  Wing  he  loved  this  Saffron  Queen, 

And  Ah  Din  she  loved  him  ; 
But  Chinese  law  came  in  between 

Them  with  its  measures  grim. 
For  you  must  know,  in  that  far  land, 

Where  dwell  the  heathen  wild, 
A  Cracker  may  not  win  the  hand 

Of  any  noble's  child. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS.       115 

"This  made  their  love  a  hopeless  one — 

Alas !  that  it  should  be 
That  anywhere  beneath  the  sun 

Exists  such  misery  ! 
So  they  resolved,  since  she  could  not 

Become  his  cherished  bride, 
Together  they'd  seek  out  some  spot 

And  there  they'd  suicide. 

"They  hastened,  weeping,  from  the  town, 

Wing-Hi  and  fair  Ah  Din, 
And  on  the  river-bank  sat  down 

Until  the  tide  came  in. 
Then  Wing-Hi  whispered,  sitting  there, 

With  tear-drops  in  his  eye, 
'Good-by,  Ah  Din  !'     And,  in  despair, 

She  answeied  him,  'Good-by.' 

"And  then  she  grasped  a  sulphur  match  ; 

She  lit  it  on  her  shoe, 
Whereat,  with  neatness  and  dispatch, 

Wing-Hi  she  touched  it  to. 
There  came  a  flash,  there  came  a  shriek, 

A  sound  surpassing  weird, 
And  Wing-Hi  brave  and  Ah  Din  meek 

In  pieces  disappeared." 

"Isn't  that  lovely?"  asked  the  Rocket,  his 
voice  husky  with  emotion. 

"It's  very  fine,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "It's  rather 
sad,  though." 

"Yes;  but  it  might  have  been  sadder,  you 
know,"  said  the  Giant  Cracker,  "She  might  not 


116          HALF-HOURS  WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 

have  loved  him  at  all ;  and  if  she  hadn't  loved 
him,  he  wouldn't  have  wasted  a  match  commit- 
ting suicide  for  her  sake,  and  then  there  wouldn't 
have  been  any  tragedy,  and,  of  course,  no  song 
would  have  been  written  about  it.  Why,  there 
is  no  end  to  the  misery  there  might  have  been." 

Here  one  of  the  Torpedoes  fell  off  the  gas-fix- 
ture to  the  floor,  where  he  exploded  with  a  loud 
noise.  There  was  a  rush  from  all  sides  to  see 
whether  the  poor  little  fellow  was  done  for  for- 
ever. 

"Send  for  the  doctor,"  said  the  Pin  Wheel.  "I 
think  he  can  be  mended. " 

"No,  don't,"  said  the  injured  Torpedo.  "I  can 
fix  myself  up  again.  Send  for  a  whisk  broom 
and  bring  me  a  parlor  match,  and  I'll  be  all 
right.'' 

"What's  the  whisk  broom  for?"  asked  Jimmie- 
boy,  somewhat  surprised  at  the  remedies  sug- 
gested. 

"  Why,"  said  the  Torpedo,  "if  you  will  sweep 
me  together  with  the  whisk  broom  and  wrap  me 
up  carefully,  I'll  eat  the  head  off  the  parlor 
match,  and  I'll  be  all  rig-ht  again.  The  match 
head  will  give  me  all  the  snap  I  need,  and  if 
you'll  wrap  me  up  in  the  proper  way.  I'll  show 
you  what  noise  is  to-morrow.  You'll  think  I'm 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS.      117 

some  relation  to  that  Miss  Din  in  the  Giant 
Cracker's  song,  unless  I'm  mistaken,  when  you 
hear  me  explode. 

The  Fire-crackers  jeered  a  little  at  this,  be- 
cause there  has  always  been  more  or  less  jealousy 
between  the  Torpedoes  and  the  Fire-crackers, 
but  the  Rocket  soon  put  a  stop  to  their  sneers. 

"What's  the  use  of  jeering?"  he  said.  "You 
don't  know  whether  he'll  make  much  noise  or 
not.  The  chances  are  hell  make  more  noise  than 
a  great  many  of  you  Crackers,  who  are  just  as 
likely  as  not  to  turn  out  sissers  in  the  long-run." 

The  Fire  crackers  were  very  much  abashed  by 
the  Rocket's  rebuke,  and  retired  shamefacedly 
into  their  various  packs,  whereupon  the  Pin 
Wheel  suggested  that  the  Rocket  recite  his  poem 
telling  the  singular  story  of  Nate  and  the  Rocket. 

"Would  you  like  to  hear  that  story,  Jimmie- 
boy?"  asked  the  Rocket. 

"Very  much,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "The  name 
of  it  sounds  Interesting." 

"Well,  I'll  try  to  tell  it.  It's  pretty  long,  and 
your  ears  are  short ;  but  we  can  try  it,  as  the  boy 
observed  to  the  man  who  said  he  didn't  think  the 
boy's  mouth  was  large  enough  to  hold  four 
pieces  of  strawberry  short-cake.  So  here  goes. 
The  real  title  of  the  poem  is 


118         HALP-tiO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  F. 
"THE  DREADFUL  FATE  OF  NAUGHTY  NATE. 

"'Way  back  in  eighty-two  or  three — 

I  don't  recall  the  date- 
There  lived  somewhere— 'twixt  you  and  me, 

I  really  can't  locate 
The  place  exact ;  say  Sangaree — 

A  lad  ;  we'll  call  him  Nate. 

"His  father  was  a  grocer,  or 

A  banker,  or  maybe 
He  kept  a  thriving  candy  store, 

For  all  that's  known  to  me. 
Perhaps  he  was  the  Governor 

Of  Maine  or  Floridee. 

"  At  any  rate,  he  had  a  dad — 

Or  so  the  story's  told  ; 
Most  youngsters  that  I've  known  have  had— 

And  Nate's  had  stacks  of  gold, 
And  those  who  knew  him  used  to  add, 

He  spent  it  free  and  bold. 

"If  Nate  should  ask  his  father  for 

A  dollar  or  a  cent, 
His  father 'd  always  give  him  more 

Than  for  to  get  he  went ; 
And  then,  before  the  day  was  o'er, 

Nate  always  had  it  spent. 

"Molasses  taffy,  circus,  cake, 

Tarts,  soda- water,  pie, 
Hot  butter-scotch,  or  rare  beefsteak, 

Or  silk  hats,  Nate  could  buy. 
His  father'd  never  at  him  shake 

His  head  and  ask  him  'Why  ?' 


JIMM1EBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS.      lid 

"'For  but. one  tiling,'  his  father  cried, 

'You  must  not  spend  your  store; 
Sky-rockets  I  cannot  abide, 
So  buy  them  never  more. 
Let  such,  I  pray,  be  never  spied 
Inside  of  my  front  door.' 

"But  Nate,  alas  !  did  not  obey 

His  father's  orders  wise. 
He  hied  him  forth  without  delay, 

Ignoring  tarts  and  pics, 
And  bought  a  rocket  huge,  size  A, 

'The  Monarch  of  the  Skies.' 

"He  clasped  it  tightly  to  his  breast, 

And  smiled  a  smile  of  glee  ; 
And  as  the  sun  sank  in  the  west, 

He  sat  beneath  a  tree, 
And  then  the  rocket  he  invest- 

I-g-a-t-e-d. 

"  Alas  for  Nate  !     The  night  was  warm  ; 

June-bugs  and  great  fire-flies 
Around  about  his  head  did  swarm  ; 

The  mercury  did  rise  ; 
And  then  a  fine  electric  storm 
Played  havoc  in  the  skies. 

"Now  if,  perchance,  it  was  a  fly, 

I'm  not  prepared  to  say  ; 
Or  if  'twas  lightning  from  the  sky, 

That  came  along  that  way  ; 
Or  if  'twas  only  brought  on  by 

The  heat  of  that  warm  day, 


120         HALF-HOURS  WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 

"I  am  not  certain,  but  'tis  clear 
There  came  a  sudden  boom, 

And  high  up  in  the  atmosphere, 
Enlightening  the  gloom, 

The  rocket  flew,  a  fiery  spear, 
And  Nate,  too,  I  presume. 


NATE  AS  A  COMET. 

"  For  never  since  that  July  day 
Has  any  man  seen  Nate. 

But  far  off  in  the  Milky  Way, 
Astronomers  do  state, 

A  comet  brilliant,  so  they  say, 
Doth  round  about  gyrate. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS.       121 

"It's  head's  so  like  small  Natty's  face, 

They  think  it's  surely  he, 
Aboard  that  rocket-stick  in  space, 

Still  mounting  constantly ; 
And  still  must  mount  until  no  trace 

Of  it  at  all  we  see." 

"Isn't  that  the  most  fearfully  awfully  terribly 
horribly  horribly  terribly  fearful  bit  of  awful- 
ness  you  ever  heard?"  queried  the  Rocket,  when 
he  had  finished. 

"It  is  indeed,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "It  really 
makes  me  feel  unhappy,  and  I  wish  you  hadn't 
told  it  to  me." 

"  I  would  not  bother  about  it,"  said  the  Rocket ; 
"  because  really  the  best  thing  about  it  is  that 
it  never  happened." 

"Suppose  it  did  happen,"  said  Jimmieboy,  after 
thinking  it  over  for  a  minute  or  two.  "Would 
Nate  ever  get  back  home  again?" 

"Oh,  he  might/'  returned  the  Rocket.  "But 
not  before  six  or  seven  million  years,  and  that 
would  make  him  late  for  tea,  you  know.  By-the- 
way,"  the  Rocket  added,  "do  you  know  the  best 
kind  of  tea  to  have  on  Fourth  of  July?" 

"No,"  said  Jimmieboy.     "What?" 

"R-o-c-k-e-tea,"  said  the  Rocket. 

The  Pin  Wheels  laughed  so  heartily  at  this 


122         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

that  one  of  them  fell  over  on  a  box  of  Blue  Lights 
and  set  them  off,  and  the  Rocket  endeavoring  to 
put  them  out  was  set  going  himself,  and  the 
first  thing  Jimmieboy  knew,  his  friend  gave  a 
fearful  siss,  and  disappeared  up  the  chimney. 
The  sparks  from  the  Rocket  falling  on  the  Roman 
Candles  started  them  along,  and  three  or  four 
balls  from  them  landed  on  a  flower  piece  which 
was  soon  putting  forth  the  most  beautiful  fiery 
roses  imaginable,  one  of  which,  as  it  gave  its  dy- 
ing sputter,  flew  up  and  landed  on  the  fuse  of  a 
great  set  piece  that  was  supposed  to  have  a  motto 
on  it.  Jimmieboy  was  almost  too  frightened  to 
move,  so  he  just  sat  where  he  was,  and  stared 
at  the  set  piece  until  he  could  read  the  motto, 
which  was,  strange  to  say,  no  motto  at  all,  but 
simply  these  words  in  red,  white,  and  blue  fire, 
"Wake  up,  and  go  to  bed  right."  Whereupon 
Jimmieboy  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  opened  them 
wider  than  ever  to  find  his  papa  bending  over 
him,  and  saying  the  very  words  he  had  seen  on 
the  set  piece. 

Probably  the  reason  why  his  papa  was  saying 
this  was  that  Jimmieboy  had  been  found  by  him 
on  his  return  home  lying  fast  asleep,  snuggled 
up  in  the  corner  of  the  library  lounge. 

As  for  the  fire-works,  in  some  way  or  other 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  FIREWORKS.      123 

they  all  managed  to  get  back  into  the  box  again 
in  good  condition,  except  the  broken  torpedo, 
which  was  found  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  just 
where  it  had  fallen.  Which  Jimmieboy  thinks 
was  very  singular. 


124         HALF- HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 


X. 

JIMMIEBOY'S  PHOTOGRAPH. 

JIMMIEBOY  had  been  taken  to  the  photog- 
rapher's and  had  posed  several  times  for 
the  man  who  made  pictures  of  little  boys.  One 
picture  showed  how  he  looked  leaning  against 
a  picket  fence  with  a  tiger  skin  rug  under  his 
feet.  Another  showed  him  in  the  act  of  putting 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  while  a  third  was  a 
miserable  attempt  to  show  how  he  looked  when 
he  couldn't  stand  still.  The  last  pleased  Jimmie- 
boy  very  much.  It  made  him  laugh  and  Jim- 
mieboy  liked  laughing  better  than  anything, 
perhaps,  excepting  custard,  which  was  his  idea 
of  real  solid  bliss.  Why  it  made  him  laugh,  I  do 
not  know,  unless  it  was  because  in  the  picture  he 
was  very  much  blurred  and  looked  something 
like  a  mixture  of  a  cloud  and  a  pin-wheel. 


JIMMIEBOTS  PHOTOGRAPH.  125 

"I  like  that  one,"  Jimmieboy  said  to  his 
mother,  when  the  proof  came  home.  "Won't 
you  let  me  have  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  his  mother.  " You  can  have  it.  I 
don't  think  any  one  else  wants  it." 

So  the  proof  became  Jimmieboy's  property, 
and  he  put  it  away  in  his  collection  of  treasures, 
which  already  contained  many  valuable  things, 
such  as  the  whistle  of  a  rubber  ball,  a  piece  of 
elastic,  and  a  worn-out  tennis  racket.  These 
treasures  the  boy  used  to  have  out  two  or  three 
times  a  day,  and  the  last  time  he  had  them  out 
something  queer  happened.  The  blurred  little 
figure  in  the  picture  spoke  to  him  and  told  him 
something  he  didn't  forget  in  a  hurry. 

"You  think  I'm  a  funny-looking  thing  don't 
you?"  said  the  blurred  picture  of  himself. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "that's  why  I 
laugh  at  you  whenever  I  see  you." 

"Well,  I  laugh  when  I  see  vou,  too,"  retorted 
the  picture.  "You  are  just  as  funny  to  look  at 
sometimes  as  I  am." 

"I'm  not  either,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I  don't 
look  like  a  cloud  or  a  pin-wheel,  and  you  do." 

"  I'm  a  picture  of  you,  just  the  same,"  returned 
the  proof,  "and  if  you  had  stood  still  when  the 
man  was  taking  you,  I'd  have  been  all  right.  It's 


126          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

awful  mean  the  way  little  boys  have  of  not  stand- 
ing still  when  they  are  having  their  pictures 
taken,  and  then  laughing  at  the  thing  they're 
responsible  for  afterward." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  be  mean,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Perhaps  not,"  retorted  the  picture,  "but  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you  I'd  have  been  a  lovely  pic- 
ture, and  your  mamma  would  have  had  a  nice 
little  silver  frame  put  around  me,  and  maybe 
I'd  have  been  standing  on  your  papa's  desk  with 
the  inkstand  and  the  mucilage  instead  of  having 
to  live  all  my  life  with  a  broken  whistle  and  a 
tennis  bat  that  nobody  but  you  has  any  use  for." 

Here  the  picture  sighed,  and  Jimmieboy-  felt 
very  sorry  for  it. 

"Boys  don't  know  what  a  terrible  lot  of  horrid 
things  happen  because  they  don't  stand  still 
sometimes,"  continued  the  picture.  "I  know  of 
lots  of  cases  where  untold  misery  has  come  from 
movey  boys." 

"From  what?"  queried  Jimmieboy. 

"Movey  boys,"  replied  the  picture.  "By  that  I 
mean  boys  that  don't  stand  still  when  they 
ought  to.  Why,  I  knew  of  a  boy  once  who 
wouldn't  stand  still  and  he  shook  a  whole  town 
to  pieces." 

" Ho !"  jeered  Jimmieboy.    " I  don't  believe  it," 


JIMMIEBOY  S  PHOTOGRAPH.  127 

"Well,  it's  so,  whether  you  believe  it  or  not." 
said  the  picture.  "The  boy's  name  was  Bob,  and 
he  lived  somewhere,  I  don't  remember  where. 
His  mother  told  him  to  stand  still  and  he 
wouldn't;  he  just  jumped  up  and  down,  and  up 
and  down  all  the  time." 

"That  may  be,  but  I  don't  see  how  he  could 
shake  a  whole  town  to  pieces,"  said  Jimmieboy, 
"unless  he  was  a  very  heavy  boy." 

"He  didn't  weigh  a  bit  more  than  you  do," 
answered  the  picture.  "He  was  heavy  enough 
when  he  jumped  to  shake  his  nursery  though, 
and  the  nursery  was  heavy  enough  to  shake  the 
house,  and  the  house  was  heavy  enough  to 
shake  the  lot,  and  the  lot  was  heavy  enough  to 
shake  the  street,  and  the  street  shook  the  whole 
town,  and  when  the  town  shook,  everybody 
thought  there  was  an  earthquake,  and  they  all 
moved  away,  and  took  the  name  of  the  town  with 
them,  which  is  why  I  don't  know  where  it  was." 

Jimmieboy  \vas  silent.  He  never  knew  before 
that  not  standing*  still  could  result  in  such  an 
awful  happening. 

"I  know  another  boy,  too,  who  lived  in — well, 
I  won't  say  where,  but  he  lived  there.  He 
broke  a  fine  big  mirror  in  his  father's  parlor  by 
not  standing  still  when  he  was  told  to." 


128          HALF- HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

"Did  he  shake  it  down?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 
"No,  indeed,  he  didn't,"  returned  the  picture. 
"He  just  stood  in  front  of  it  and  got  so  movey 
that  the  mirror  couldn't  keep  up  with  him,  but 
it  tried  to  do  it  so  hard  that  it  shook  itself  to 
pieces.  But  that  wasn't  anything  like  as  bad  as 
what  happened  to  Jumping  Sam.  He  was  the 
worst  I  ever  knew.  He  never  would  keep  still, 
and  it  all  happened  and  he  never  could  unhap- 
pen  it,  so  that  it's  still  so  to  this  very  day." 

"But  you  haven't  told  me  what  happened  yet," 
said  Jimmieboy,  very  much  interested  in  Jump- 
ing Sam. 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  picture,  grave- 
ly. "  And  this  is  it.  The  story  is  a  poem,  Jim- 
mieboy, and  it's  called : 

"THE  HORRID  FATE  OF  JUMPING  SAM. 
"  Small  Sammy  was  as  fine  a  lad 

As  ever  you  did  see  ; 
But  one  bad  habit  Sammy  had, 

A  Jumper  bold  was  he. 
And,  oh  !  his  fate  was  very  sad, 
As  it  was  told  to  me. 

"  He  never,  never,  would  stand  still 

In  school  or  on  the  street ; 
He'd  squirm  if  he  were  well  or  ill, 

If  on  his  back  or  feet. 
He'd  wriggle  on  the  window-sill, 

He'd  waggle  in  his  seat. 


JIMMIEBOTS  PHOTOGRAPH.  129 

"And  so  it  happened  one  fine  day, 

When  all  alone  was  he, 
He  got  to  jumping  in  a  way 

That  was  a  sight  to  see. 
He  leaped  two  feet  at  first,  they  say, 
And  then  he  made  it  three. 

"Then  four,  and  five,  the  long  day  through, 

Until  he  could  not  stop. 
Each  jump  he  jumped  much  longer  grew, 

Until  he  gave  a  hop 
Up  in  the  air  a  mile  or  two, 

A-twirling  like  a  top. 

"  He  turned  about  and  tried  to  jump 

Back  to  his  father's  door, 
But  landed  by  the  village  pump, 

Some  twenty  miles  or  more 
Beyond  it,  and  an  awful  bump 

He'd  got  when  it  was  o'er. 

"  And  still  his  jumps  increased  in  size, 

Until  they  got  so  great, 
He  landed  on  the  railway  ties 

In  some  far  distant  state  ; 
And  then  he  knew  'twould  have  been  wise, 

His  jumping  to  abate. 

"  But  as  the  years  passed  slowly  by, 

His  jumping  still  went  on, 
Until  he  leaped  from  Italy, 

As  far  as  Washington. 
And  he  confessed,  with  heavy  eye, 

It  wasn't  any  fun. 


130  .        HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"And  when,  in  1883, 

I  met  him  up  in  Perth, 
He  wept  and  said  'good-by'  to  me, 

And  jumped  around  the  earth. 
And  I  was  saddened  much  to  see 

That  he  knew  naught  of  mirth. 

"Last  year  in  far  Allahabad, 

Late  in  the  month  of  June, 
I  met  again  this  jumping  lad — 

•Twas  in  the  afternoon — 
As  he  with  visage  pale  and  sad 

Was  jumping  to  the  moon. 

"So  all  his  days,  leap  after  leap, 

He  takes  from  morn  to  night. 
He  cannot  eat,  he  cannot  sleep, 

But  flies  just  like  a  kite, 
And  all  because  he  would  not  keep 

From  jumping  when  he  might. 

"And  I  believe  the  moral's  true- 
Though  shown  with  little  skill — 
That  whatsoever  you  may  do, 

Be  it  of  good  or  ill, 
Once  in  a  while  it  may  pay  you 
To  practice  keeping  still." 

A  long  silence  followed  the  completion  of  the 
blurred  picture's  poem.  For  some  reason  or  other 
it  had  made  Jimmieboy  think,  and  while  he 
was  thinking,  wonderful  to  say,  he  was  keeping 
very  quiet,  so  that  it  was  quite  evident  that  the 
fate  of  Jumping  Sam  had  had  some  effect  upon 


JIMMIEBOY'S  PHOTOGRAPH.  131 

him.  Finally,  however,  the  spell  was  broken, 
and  he  began  to  wiggle  just  as  he  wiggled  while 
his  picture  was  being  taken,  and  then  he  said : 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  believe  that  story  or 
not,  I  can't  see  your  face  very  plainly  here. 
Come  over  into  the  light  and  tell  me  the  poem 
all  over  agaiti,  and  I  can  tell  by  looking  in  your 
eye  whether  it  is  true  or  not." 

The  picture  made  no  reply,  and  Jimmieboy, 
grasping  it  firmly  in  his  hand,  went  to  the  win- 
dow and  gazed  steadily  at  it  for  a  minute,  bnt 
it  was  useless.  The  picture  not  only  refused  to 
speak,  but,  as  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  fell 
fall  upon  it,  faded  slowly  from  sight. 

Nevertheless,  true  story  or  not,  Jimrnieboy  has 
practiced  standing  still  very  often  since  the  affair 
happened,  which  is  a  good  thing  for  little  boys 
to  do,  so  that  perhaps  the  brief  life  and  long 
poem  of  the  rejected  picture  were  not  wasted 
after  all. 


132          HALF-HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 


XL 

JIMMIEBOY   AND   1HE   BLANK-BOOK. 

QOMEBODY  had  sighed  deeply,  and  had  said, 
O" Oh  dear!" 

What  bothered  Jimmiehoy  was  to  find  out 
who  that  somebody  was.  It  couldn't  have  been 
mamma,  because  she  had  gone  out  that  evening 
with  papa  to  take  dinner  at  Uncle  Periwinkle's, 
and  for  the  same  reason,  therefore,  it  could  not 
have  been  papa  that  had  sighed  and  said  "  Oh 
dear!"  so  plainly.  Neither  was  it  Moggie,  as  Jim- 
mieboy  called  his  nurse,  companion,  and  friend, 
because  Moggie,  supposing  him  to  be  astep,  had 
gone  up  stairs  to  her  own  room  to  read.  It  might 
have  been  little  Russ  if  it  had  only  been  a  sigh 
that  had  come  to  Jimmieboy's  ears,  for  little 
Russ  was  quite  old  enough  to  sigh;  but  as  for 
adding  "Oh  dear! "that  was  quite  out  of  the 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  BLANK-BOOK.      133 

question,  because  all   little  Russ  had  ever  been 
able  to  say  was  "Bzoo,"   and,  as  you  may  have 
observed  for  yourself,  people  who  can   only   say 
"Bzoo"  cannot  say  "Oh  dear!" 
It  was  so  mysterious  altogether  that  Jimmie- 


"OH!    DEAR!" 

boy  sat  up  straight  on  his  pillow,  and  began  to 
wonder  if  it  wouldn't  be  well  for  him  to  get 
frightened  and  cry.  The  question  was  decided  in 
favor  of  a  shriek  of  terror ;  but  the  shriek  did 
not  come,  because  just  as  Jimrnieboy  got  his 


134          HALF- HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

mouth  open  to   utter   it  the   strange   somebody 

sighed  again,  and  said : 

"Aren't  you  sorry  for  me,  Jimmieboy?" 
"Who   are  you?"   asked    Jimmieboy,   peering 

through  the  darkness,  trying  to   see  who  it  was 

that  had  a.ddressed  him. 

"I'm  a  poor  unhappy   Blank-book,"  came  the 

answer.     "A  Blank-book   with  no  hope  now   of 


"EVERYBODY  LAUGHED  BUT  ME." 

ever  becoming  great.  Did  you  ever  feel  as  if  you 
wanted  to  become  great,  Jimmieboy?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  returned  the  boy.  "I  do 
yet.  I'm  going  to  be  a  fireman  when  I  grow  up, 
and  drive  an  engine,  and  hold  a  hose,  and  put 
out  great  configurations,  as  papa  calls  ?em." 

"Then  you  know,"  returned  the  Blank-book, 
"  or  rather  you  can  imagine,  my  awful  sorrow 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  BLANK-BOOK.      135 

when  I  say  that  I  have  aspired  to  equally  lofty 
honors,  but  find  myself  now  condemned  to  do 
things  I  don't  like,  to  devote  rny  life  not  to  great 
and  noble  deeds,  but  to  miserable  every-day  af- 
fairs. You  can  easily  see  how  I  must  feel  if  you 
will  only  try  to  imagine  your  own  feelings  if, 
after  a  life  whose  every  thought  and  effort  had 
been  directed  toward  making  you  the  proud 
driver  of  a  fire-engine,  you  should  find  it  neces- 
sary to  settle  clown  to  the  humdrum  life  of  a  law- 
yer, all  your  hopes  destroyed,  and  the  goal 
toward  which  you  had  ever  striven  placed  far 
beyond  your  reach." 

"You  didn't  want  to  be  a  fireman,  did  you?" 
asked  Jimmieboy,  softly. 

"No,"  said  the  Blank-book,  jumping  off  the 
table,  and  crossing  over  to  Jimmieboy 's  crib, 
into  which  he  climbed,  much  to  the  little  fel- 
low's delight.  "No,  I  never  wanted  to  be  a  fire- 
man, or  a  policeman,  or  a  car  conductor,  be- 
cause I  have  always  known  that  those  were 
things  I  never  could  become.  No  matter  how 
wise  and  great  a  Blank-book  may  be,  there  is  a 
limit  to  his  wisdom  and  his  greatness.  It  some- 
times makes  us  unhappy  to  realize  this,  but 
after  all  there  is  plenty  in  the  world  that  a 
Blank-book  can  do,  and  do  nobly,  without  env>- 


136          HALF-HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

ing  others  who  have  to  do  far  nobler  and  greater 
things  before  they  can  be  considered  famous. 
Everything  we  have  to  do  in  this  world  is  worth 
doing  well,  and  everybody  should  be  content  to 
do  the  things  that  are  given  to  his  kind  to  ac- 
complish. The  poker  should  always  try  to  poke 
as  well  as  he  can,  and  not  envy  the  garden  hose 
because  the  garden  hose  can  sprinkle  flowers, 
while  he  can't.  The  rake  should  be  content  to 
do  the  best  possible  rake's  work,  and  not  sigh 
because  he  cannot  sing  'Annie  Rooney'  the  way 
the  hand-organ  does." 

"Then  why  do  you  sigh  because  of  the  work 
they  have  given  you  to  do?" 

"That's  very  simple,"  returned  the  Blank-book. 
"  I  can  explain  that  in  a  minute.  While  I  have 
no  right  to  envy  a  glue-pot  because  it  can  hold 
glue  and  I  can't,  I  have  a  right  to  feel  hurt  and 
envious  when  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  another  Blank- 
book,  no  better  than  myself,  to  become  the 
medium  through  which  beautiful  poems  and 
lovely  thoughts  are  given  to  the  world,  while  I 
am  compelled  to  do  work  of  the  meanest  kind. 

"It  has  always  been  my  dream  to  become  the 
companion  of  a  poet,  of  a  philosopher,  or  of  a 
humorist— to  be  the  Blank-book  of  his  heart— to 
He  quiet  in  his  pocket  until  he  had  thought  a 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  BLANK-BOOK.      137 

thought,  and  then  to  be  pulled  out  of  that  pocket 
and  to  be  made  the  receptacle  of  that  thought. 

"Oh,  I  have  dreamed  ambitious  dreams,  Jim- 
mi  eboy — ambitious  dreams  that  must  now  re- 
main only  dreams,  and  never  be  real.  Once,  as 
I  lay  with  a  thousand  others  just  like  me  on  the 
shelf  of  the  little  stationery  shop  where  your 
mother  bought  me.  I  dreamed  I  was  sold  to  a 
poet — a  true  poet.  Everywhere  he  went,  went 
I,  and  every  beautiful  line  he  thought  of  was 
promptly  put  down  upon  one  of  my  leaves  with 
a  dainty  gold  pencil,  contact  with  which  was 
enough  to  thrill  me  through  and  through. 

"  Here  is  one  of  the  things  I  dreamed  he  wrote 
upon  my  leaves : 

•"What's  the  use  of  tears? 

What's  the  use  of  moping? 
What's  the  use  of  fears? 
Here's  to  hoping ! 

'"Life  hath  more  of  joy 

Than  she  hath  of  weeping. 
When  grief  comes,  my  boy, 
Pleasure's  sleeping. 

"'Only  sleeping,  child  ; 

Thou  art  not  forsaken, 
Let  thy  smiles  run  wild — 
She '11  a  waken  !' 


138         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Don't  you  think  that's  nice?"  queried  the 
Blank-book  when  he  had  finished  reciting  the 
poem. 

"Very  nice,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "And  it's  very 
true,  too.  Tears  aren't  any  good.  Why,  they 
don't  even  wash  your  face." 

"I  know,"  returned  the  Blank-book.  "Tears 
are  just  like  rain  clouds.  A  sunny  smile  can 
drive  'em  away  like  autumn  leaves  before  a 
whirl- wind." 

"Or  a  clothes-line  full  of  clothes  before  an 
east  wind,"  suggested  Jimmieboy. 

"Yes;  or  like  buckwheat  cakes  before  a  hun- 
gry school-boy,"  put  in  the  Blank-book.  "Then 
that  same  poet  in  my  dream  wrote  a  verse  about 
his  little  boy  I  rather  liked.  It  went  this  Avay: 

"'Of  rats  and  snails  and  puppy-dogs'  tails 

Some  man  has  said  boys  are  made  ; 
But  he  who  spoke  to  be  truthful  fails, 
If  'twas  of  my  boy  'twas  said. 

"'For  honey,  and  wine,  and  sweet  sunshine, 

And  fruits  from  over  the  swim, 
And  everything  else  that's  fair  and  fine, 
Are  sure  to  be  found  in  him. 

'"His  kisses  are  nice  and  sweet  as  spice, 

His  smile  is  richer  than  cake — 
Which,  if  it  were  known  to  rats  and  mice, 
The  cheeses  they  would  forsake. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  BLANK-BOOK.      139 

'"  His  dear  little  voice  is  soft  and  choice, 

He  giggles  all  day  with  glee, 
And  it  makes  my  heart  and  soul  rejoice, 
To  think  he  belongs  to  me.'  " 

"That's  first  rate."  said  Jimmieboy.  "Only 
Mother  Goose  has  something  very  much  like  it 
about  little  girls." 

"That  was  just  it,"  returned   the   Blank-book 
"She  had   been  a  little  girl  herself,  and  she  was 
too  proud  to  live.     If  she  had  been  a  boy  instead 
of  a  girl,  it  would  have  been   the   boy   who   was 
made  of  sugar  and  spice  and  all  that's  nice." 

"Didn't  your  dream-poet  ever  write  anything 
funny  in  you?"  asked  Jimmieboy.  "I  do  love 
funny  poems." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  whether  some  of  the 
things  he  wrote  were  funny  or  not,"  returned 
tlie  Blank-book,  scratching  his  cover  with  a  pen- 
cil he  carried  in  a  little  loop  at  his  side.  "But 
they  were  queer.  There  was  one  about  a  small 
boy,  named  Nappies,  who  spent  all  his  time  eat- 
ing apples,  till  by  some  odd  mistake  he  con- 
tracted an  ache,  and  now  with  J.  Ginger  he 
grapples. " 

"That's  the  kind,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I  think 
to  some  people  who  never  ate  a  green  apple,  or 
tasted  Jamaica  ginger,  or  contracted  an  ache, 


140         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

it  would  be  real  funny.  I  don't  laugh  at  it,  be- 
cause I  know  how  solemn  Tommy  Nappies  must 
have  felt.  Did  you  ever  have  any  more  like 
that?" 

"Oh  my,  yes,"  returned  the  Blank-book.  "Bar- 
rels full.  This  was  another  one— only  I  don't  be- 
lieve what  it  says  is  true: 

'"A  man  living  near  Navesink, 
Eats  nothing  but  thistles  and  zinc, 
With  mustard  and  glue, 
And  pollywog  stew, 
Washed  down  with  the  best  of  blue  ink.'  " 

"That's  pretty  funny,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Is  it?"  queried  the  Blank-book,  with  a  sigh. 
"I'll  have  to  take  your  word  for  it.  I  can't 
laugh,  because  I  have  nothing  to  say  ha!  ha! 
with,  and  even  if  I  could  say  ha!  ha!  I  don't 
suppose  I'd  know  when  to  laugh,  because  I  don't 
know  a  joke  when  I  see  one." 

"Really?"  asked  Jimmieboy,  who  had  never 
supposed  any  one  could  be  born  so  blind  that  he 
could  not  at  least  see  a  joke. 

"Really,"  sighed  the  Blank-took.  "Why,  a 
man  came  into  the  store  where  I  was  for  sale 
once,  and  said  he  wanted  a  Blank-book,  and  the 
clerk  asked  him  what  for — meaning,  of  course, 
did  he  want  an  account-bock,  a  diary,  or  a  copy- 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  BLANK-BOOK.      141 

book.  The  man  answered,  ;To  wash  windows 
with,  of  course.'  and  everybody  laughed  but  me. 
I  simply  couldn't  see  the  point.  Can  you?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Jimmieboy,  a  broad 
smile  coming  over  his  lips.  "It  was  very  funny. 
The  point  was  that  people  don't  wash  windows 
with  Blank-books." 

"What's  funny  about  that?"  asked  the  Blank- 
book.  "It  would  be  a  great  deal  funnier  if  people 
did  wash  windows  with  a  Blank-book.  He  might 
have  said  *to  go  coasting  on,'  or  'to  sweeten  my 
coffee  with,'  or  'to  send  out  to  the  heathen,'  and 
it  would  have  been  just  as  funny.' 

"I  guess  that's  true,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "But 
it  was  funny  just  the  same." 

"No  doubt,"  returned  the  Blank-book;  "but 
it  seems  to  me  what's  funny  depends  on  the 
other  fellow.  You  might  get  off  a  splendid  joke, 
and  if  he  hadn't  his  joke  spectacles  on  he'd  think 
it  was  nonsense." 

"Oh  no,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "If  he  hadn't  his 
joke  spectacles  on  lie  wouldn't  think  it  was  non- 
sense. Jokes  are  nonsense." 

"But  you  said  a  moment  ago  the  fun  of  the 
Blank-book  joke  was  that  you  couldn't  wash 
windows  with  one.  That's  a  fact,  so  how  could 
it  be  nonsense?" 


142          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,"  said  Jim- 
inieboy 

.  "  Ah :"  ejaculated  the  Blank-book.  "  Now  that 
is  really  f  uniiy,  because  I  don't  see  how  you  could 
think  of  it  in  any  other  way." 

"I  don't  see  anything  funny  about  that,"  be- 
gan Jimmieboy. 

"Oh  dear!"  sighed  the  Blank-book.  "We 
never  shall  agree,  except  that  I  am  willing  to 
believe  that  you  know  more  about  nonsense  than 
I  do.  Perhaps  you  can  explain  this  poem  to  me. 
I  dreamt  my  poet  wrote  this  on  my  twelfth  page. 
It  was  called  'A  Plane  Tale:' 

"'I  used  to  be  so  surly,  that 

All  men  avoided  me  ; 

But  now  I  am  a  diplomat, 

Of  wondrous  suavity. 

"*I  met  a  carpenter  one  night, 

Who  wore  a  dotted  vest ; 
And  when  I  asked  if  that  was  right, 
He  told  me  to  go  West. 

"'I  suized  his  saw  and  brandished  it, 

As  fiercely  as  I  could, 
An  1  told  him,  with  much  show  of  wit, 
I  thought  he  was  no  good. 

"'At  that  he  looked  me  in  the  face, 

And  said  my  tone  was  gruff ; 
My  manner  lacked  a  needed  grace, 
In  every  way  was  rough. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  BLANK-BOOK.      143 

'"He  seized  and  laid  me  on  a  plank, 

He  gave  i\  little  cough  ; 
And  then,  although  my  spirits  sank, 
He  planed  me  wholly  off ! 

'"And  ever  since  that  painful  night, 

When  he  so  treated  me, 
I've  been  as  polished,  smooth  a  wight, 
As  any  one  can  be. '  ' 

"There  isn't  much  sense  in  that,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy. 

"Well,  now,  I  think  there  is,"  said  the  Blank- 
book.  "There's  a  moral  to  that.  Two  of  'em. 
One's  mind  your  own  business.  If  the  carpenter 
wanted  to  wear  a  dotted  vest  it  was  nobody's 
affair.  The  other  moral  is,  a  little  plane  speak- 
ing goes  a  great  way." 

"Oh,  what  a  joke!"  cried  Jimmieboy. 

"I  didn't  make  any  joke,"  retorted  the  Blank- 
book,  his  Russia-leather  eover  getting  red  as  a 
beet. 

"Yes,  you  did,  too,"  returned  Jimmieboy. 
"Plane  and  plain — don't  you  see?  P-1-a-n-e  and 
p-1-a-i-n." 

"Bah!"  said  the  Blank-book.  "Nonsense!  That 
can't  be  a  joke.  That's  a  coincidence.  Is  that 
what  you  call  a  joke?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Jimmieboy. 

"  Well,  then,  I'm  not  as  badly  off  as  I  thought. 


144 


HALF-HOURS   WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 


I  wanted  to  be  a  poet's  book  and  couldn't,  but 
it  is  better  to  be  used  for  a  wash-list  as  I  am 
than  to  help  funny  men  to  remember  stuff  like 
that.  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Jimmieboy,  for 
the  information.  You  have  made  me  see  that 
I  might  have  fared  worse  than  I  have  fared, 


"IS  THAT  WHAT  YOU  CALL  A  JOKE?" 

and  I  thank  you,  and  as  I  hear  your  mamma  and 
papa  coming  up  the  stairs  now,  I'll  run  back  to 
the  desk.  Good-night!" 

And  the  Blank-book  kissed  Jimmieboy,  and 
scampered  over  to  the  desk  as  fast  as  it  could, 
and  the  next  day  Jimmieboy  begged  so. hard  for 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  BLANK-BOOK.      145 

it  that  his  mamma  gave  it  to  him  for  his  very 
own. 

"  What  shall  you  do  with  it  now  that  you  have 
it?"  asked  mamma. 

"I'm  going  to  save  it  till  I  grow  up,"  returned 
Jimmieboy.  "Maybe  I'll  be  a  poet,  and  I  can  use 
it  to  write  poems  in." 


146          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 


XII. 

JIMMIEBOY    AND   THE   COMET. 

JIMMIEBOY  was  thinking  very  hard.  He  was 
also  blinking  quite  as  hard  because  he  was 
undeniably  sleepy.  His  father  had  been  reading 
something  to  his  mamma  about  a  curious  thing 
that  lived  up  in  the  sky  called  a  comet.  Jimmie- 
boy  had  never  seen  a  comet,  nor  indeed  before 
that  had  he  even  heard  of  one,  so  of  course  his 
ideas  as  to  what  it  looked  like  were  rather  con- 
fused. His  father's  description  of  it  was  clear 
enough,  perhaps,  but  nevertheless  Jimmieboy 
found  it  difficult  to  conjure  up  in  his  mind  any 
reasonable  creature  that  could  in  any  way  re- 
semble a  comet.  Finally  ,  however,  he  made  up 
his  mind  that  it  must  look  like  a  queer  kind  of  a 
dog  with  nothing  but  a  head  and  a  tail — or  per- 
haps it  was  a  sort  of  fiery  polly  wog. 
At  any  rate,  while  he  thought  and  blinked, 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  COMET.  147 

what  should  he  see  peeping  in  at  him  through  the 
window  but  the  comet  itself.  Jimmieboy  knew 
it  was  the  comet  because  the  comet  told  him  so 
afterward,  and  besides  it  wore  a  placard  sus- 
pended about  its  neck  which  had  printed  on  it 
in  great  gold  letters :  "  I'm  the  Comet.  Come  out 
and  take  a  ride  through  the  sky  with  me." 

"Me?"  cried  Jimmieboy,  starting  up  as  soon  as 
he  had  read  the  invitation. 

Immediately  the  word  "  Yes"  appeared  on  the 
placard  and  Jimmieboy  walked  over  to  the  win- 
dow and  stepping  right  through  the  glass  as 
though  it  were  just  so  much  air,  found  himself 
seated  upon  the  Comet's  back,  and  mounting  to 
the  sky  so  fast  that  his  hair  stood  out  behind  him 
like  so  many  pieces  of  stiff  wire. 

"Are  you  comfortable?"  asked  the  Comet,  after 
a  few  minutes. 

"Yes,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "only  you  kind  of 
dazzle  my  eyes.  You  are  so  bright." 

The  Comet  appeared  to  be  very  much  pleased 
at  this  remark,  for  he  smiled  so  broadly  that  Jim- 
mieboy could  see  the  two  ends  of  his  mouth  ap- 
pear on  either  side  of  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"You're  right-  about  that,"  said  the  Comet. 
"I'm  the  brightest  tiling  there  ever  was.  I'm  all 
the  time  getting  off  jokes  and  things." 


148          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Are  you  really?"  cried  Jimmieboy,  delighted. 
"I  am  so  glad,  for  I  love  jokes  and — and  things. 
Get  off  a  joke  now,  will  you?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  obliging-  Comet.  "You 
don't  know  why  the  moon  is  called  she,  do  you?" 

"No,"  said  Jimmieboy.     "Why  is  it?" 

"Because  it  isn't  a  sun.  so  it  must  be  a  daugh- 
ter," said  the  Comet.  "Isn't  that  funny?" 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Jimmieboy,  trying  to  look 
as  if  he  thought  the  joke  a  good  one.  "But  don't 
you  know  anything  funnier  than  that?" 

"Yes,"  returned  the  Comet.  "What  do  you 
think  of  this:  What  is  the  only  thing  you  can 
crack  without  splitting  it?" 

"That  sounds  interesting,"  said  Jimmieboy, 
"but  I'm  sure  I  never  could  guess." 

"Why,  it's  a  joke,  of  course,"  said  the  Comet. 
"You  can  crack  a  joke  eight  times  a  day  and 
it's  as  whole  as  it  ever  was  when  night  comes." 

"That's  so,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "That's  funnier 
than  the  other,  too.  I  see  now  why  they  call  you 
a  Comic." 

"I'm  not  a  Comic,"  said  the  Comet,  with  a 
laugh  at  Jimmieboy 's  mistake.  "I'm  a  Comet. 
I  end  with  a  T  like  the  days  when  you  have  din- 
ner in  the  afternoon.  They  end  with  a  tea,  don't 
they?" 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  COMET.  149 

"That's  the  best,  yet,"  roared  Jimmieboy.  "If 
you  give  me  another  like  that  I  may  laugh 
harder  and  fall  off,  so  I  guess  you'd  better 
hadn't." 

"How  would  you  like  to  hear  some  of  my 
poetry?"  asked  the  Comet.  "I'm  a  great  writer 
of  poetry,  I  can  tell  you.  I  won  a  prize  once  for 
writing  more  poetry  in  an  hour  than  any  other 
Comet  in  school." 

"I'm  very  fond  of  it,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "Spec- 
ially when  it  don't  make  sense." 

"That's  the  kind  I  like,  too,"  agreed  the  Comet. 
"I  never  can  understand  the  other  kind.  I've 
got  a  queer  sort  of  a  head.  I  can't  understand 
sense,  but  nonsense  is  as  clear  to  me  as — well  as 
turtle  soup.  Ever  see  any  turtle  soup?" 

"No,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "but  I've  seen  tur- 
tles." 

"  Well,  turtle  soup  is  a  million  times  clearer 
than  turtles,  so  maybe  you  can  get  some  idea  of 
what  I  mean." 

"Yes,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I  think  I  do.  Non- 
sense poetry  is  like  a  window  to  you.  You  can 
see  through  it  in  a  minute." 

"Exactly,"  said  the  Comet.  "Only  nonsense 
poetry  hasn't  any  glass  in  it.  so  it  isn't  exactly 
like  a  window  to  me  after  all." 


150          HALfr-ttO  URS  WITH  JlMMIEBO  Y. 

"Well,  anyhow,"  put  in  Jimmieboy.  "Let's 
have  some  of  the  poetry." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  Comet.  "Here  goes. 
It's  about  an  animal  named  the  Speeler,  and  it's 
called  'The  Speeler's  Lament.' 

"  Oh,  many  years  ago, 

When  Jack  and  Jill  were  young, 
There  wandered*  to  and  fro, 
Along  the  glistening  snow, 

A  Speeler,  much  unstrung. 

"I  asked  the  Speeler  why 

He  looked  so  mortal  sad  ? 

He  gazed  into  my  eye, 

And  then  he  made  reply, 
In  language  very  bad, 

"'I'm  sad,'  said  he,  'because 

A  Speeler  true  I  be  ; 
And  yet,  despite  my  jaws, 
My  wings,  and  beak,  and  claws, 
Despite  my  manners  free, 

'"Despite  my  feathers  fine, 

My  voice  so  soft  and  sweet, 

My  truly  fair  outline, 

My  very  handsome  spine, 
And  massive  pair  of  feet, 

"'In  all  this  world  of  space- 
On  foot,  on  fin,  on  wing — 

From  Nature's  top  to  base, 

There  never  was  a  trace 

Of  any  such  strange  tiling. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  COMET.  151 

u '  And  it  does  seem  to  me— 
Indeed  it  truly  does  — 
'Tis  dreadful,  sir,  to  be, 
As  you  can  plainly  see, 

A  thing  that  never  \vas !'  ' 
"What's  a  Speeler?"  said  Jimmieboy. 
"  It  isn't  anything.  There  isn't  any  such  thing 
as  a  Speeler  and  that's  what  made  this  particular 
Speeler  feel  so  badly,"  said  the  Comet.  "I  know 
I'd  feel  that  way  myself.  It  must  be  dreadful  to 
be  something  that  isn't.  I  was  sorry  after  I  had 
written  that  poem  and  created  the  poor  Speeler 
because  it  doesn't  seem  right  to  create  a  thing 
just  for  the  sake  of  making  it  unhappy  to  please 
people  who  like  poetry  of  that  kind." 

"I'm  afraid  it  was  a  sensible  poem,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy. "Because,  really,  Mr.  Comet,  I  can't 
understand  it." 

"Well,  let  me  try   you   on   another  then,  and 
take  away  the  taste  of  that  one.     How  do  you 
like  this.    It's  called  'Wobble  Doo,  the  Squaller. 
uThe  Wobble  Doo  was  fond  of  pie, 

He  also  loved  peach  jam. 
But  what  most  pleased  his  eagle  eye, 
Was  pickled  cakes  and  ham. 

"But  when,  perchance,  he  got  no  cake, 

Jam,  ham,  or  pie  at  all, 
He'd  sit  upon  a  garden  rake, 

And  squall,  and  squall,  and  squall. 


152          HALF-HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

"  And  as  these  never  came  his  way, 

This  hero  of  my  rhyme, 
I  really  do  regret  to  say, 
Was  squalling  all  the  time." 

"Your  poems  are  all  sad,  aren't  they?"  said 
Jimmieboy.  "Couldn't  you  have  let  Wobble 
Doo  have  just  a  little  bit  of  cake  and  jam?" 
•"No.  It  was  impossible,"  replied  the  Comet, 
sadly,  "I  couldn't  afford  it.  I  did  all  I  could  for 
him  in  writing  the  poem.  Seems  to  me  that  was 
enough.  It  brought  him  glory,  and  glory  is 
harder  to  get  than  cakes  and  peach  jam  ever 
thought  of  being.  Perhaps  you'll  like  this  better: 

"  Abadee  sollaker  hollaker  moo, 

Carraway,  sarraway  mollaker  doo — 
Hobledy,  gobbledy,  sassafras  Sam, 
Taramy,  faramy,  aramy  jam." 

"I  don't  understand  it  at  all,"  said  Jimmieboy. 
"What  language  is  it  in?" 

"One  I  made  up  myself,"  said  the  Comet,  glee- 
fully. "And  it's  simply  fine.  IcallittheCometoo 
language.  Nobody  knows  anything  about  it  ex- 
cept myself,  and  I  haven't  mastered  it  yet  -but 
my!  It's  the  easiest  language  in  the  world  to 
write  poetry  in.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  go 
right  ahead  and  make  up  words  to  suit  yourself, 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  COMET.  153 

and  finding  rhyme  is  no  trouble  at  all  when  you 
do  that." 

"But  what's  the  good  of  it?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"Oh,  it  has  plenty  of  advantages,"  said  the 
Comet,  shaking  his  head  wisely.  "In  the  first 
place  if  you  have  a  language  all  your  own,  that 
nobody  else  knows,  nobody  else  can  write  a  poem 
in  it.  You  have  the  whole  field  to  yourself.  Just 
think  how  great  a  man  would  be  if  he  was  the 
only  one  to  understand  English  and  write  poetry 
in  it.  He'd  get  all  the  money  that  ever  was  paid 
for  English  poetry,  which  would  be  a  fortune. 
It  would  come  to  at  least  $800,  which  is  a  good 
deal  of  money,  considering." 

"Considering  what?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"Considering  what  it  would  bring  if  wisely 
invested,"  said  the  Comet.  "Did  you  ever  think 
of  Avhat  $800  was  worth  in  peanuts,  for  instance." 

Jimmieboy  laughed  at  the  idea  of  spending 
$800  in  peanuts,  and  then  he  said :  "  No,  I  never 
tn  ought  anything  about  it.  What  is  it  worth  in 
peanuts?" 

"Well, "said  the  Comet,  scratching  his  head 
with  his  tail,  "it's  a  very  hard  bit  of  arithmetic, 
but,  I'll  try  to  write  it  out  for  you.  Peanuts,  you 
know,  cost  ten  cents  a  quart." 

"  Do  they?"  said  Jimmieboy.  "  I  never  bought  a 


154         HALF- HOURS  WITH  JIMM1EBOY. 

whole  quart  at  once.  I've  only  paid  five  cents  a 
pint." 

"  Well,  five  cents  a  pint  is  English  for  ten  cents 
a  quart,"  said  the  Comet,  "and  in  $800  there  are 
eight  thousand  ten  centses,  so  that  you  could 
get  eight  thousand  quarts  of  peanuts  for  $800. 
Now  every  quart  of  peanuts  holds  about  fifty 
peanut  shellfuls,  so  that  eight  thousand  quarts 
of  peanuts  equal  four  hundred  thousand  peanuts 
shellfuls.  Each  peanut  shell  holds  two  small 
nuts  so  that  in  four  hundred  thousand  of  them 
there  are  eight  hundred  thousand  nuts." 

"Phe-e-ew!"  whistled  Jimmieboy.  "What  a 
feast." 

"Yes,"  said  tne  Comet,  "but  just  you  wait. 
Suppose  you  ate  one  of  these  nuts  a  minute,  do 
you  know  how  long  it  would  take  you,  eating 
eight  hours  a  day,  to  eat  up  the  whole 
lot?" 

"No,"  said  Jimmieboy,  beginning  to  feel  a  lit- 
tle awed  at  the  wondrous  possibilities  of  $800  in 
peanuts. 

"  Four  years,  six  months,  three  weeks  and  six 
days,  and  you'd  have  to  eat  Sundays  to  get 
through  it  in  that  time,"  said  the  Comet.  "In 
soda  water  it  would  be  quite  as  awful  and  in 
peppermint  sticks  at  two  cents  a  foot  it  would 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  COMET.  155 

bring  you  a  stick  forty  thousand  feet,  or  more 
than  seven  miles  long." 

"Isn't  $800  wonderful,"  said  Jimmieboy,  over- 
come by  the  mere  thought  of  so  much  pepper- 
mint candy. 

"Yes— but  really  I  am  much  more  wonderful 
when  you  think  of  me.  You  haven't  been  on  my 
back  more  than  ten  minutes  and  yet  in  that  time 
I  have  taken  you  all  around  the  world,"  said 
the  Comet. 

"All  the  way!"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Comet,  stopping  suddenly. 
"Here  Ave  are  back  at  your  window  again." 

"But  I  didn't  see  China,  and  I  wanted  to,"  said 
the  boy. 

"Can't  help  it,"  said  the  Comet.  "You  had 
your  chance,  but  you  preferred  to  talk  about 
poetry  and  peanuts.  It  isn't  my  fault.  Off  with 
you,  now." 

And  then  the  Comet  bucked  like  a  wild  West- 
ern Broncho,  and  as  Jimmieboy  went  over  his 
head  through  the  window  and  landed  plump  in 
his  papa's  lap,  the  queer  creature  with  the  fiery 
tail  flew  off  into  space. 


156          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JlMMlhBOY. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

JIMMIEBOY     AND     JACK     FROST— IN      WHICH      JACK 
GIVES   OFFENCE. 

JIMMIEBOY  is  the  proud  possessor  of  a  small 
brother,  who,  to  use  one  of  Jimmieboy's  own 
expressions,  is  getting  to  be  a  good  deal  of  a  man. 
That  is  to  say,  he  is  old  enough  to  go  out  driving 
all  by  himself,  being  eleven  months  of  age,  and 
quite  capable  of  managing  the  fiery  untamed 
nurse  that  pushes  his  carriage  along  the  street. 
Of  course,  if  the  nurse  had  not  been  warranted 
kind  and  gentle  when  the  baby's  mamma  went 
to  find  her  in  the  beginning,  little  Russ  would 
have  had  to  have  somebody  go  along  with  him 
when  he  went  driving — somebody  like  Jimmie- 
boy,  for  instance,  to  frighten  off  big  dogs  and 
policemen,  and  to  see  that  the  nurse  didn't  shy 
or  run  away — but  as  it  was,  the  baby  had  de- 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  JACK  FROST.  157 

veloped  force  of  character  and  self-reliance 
enough  to  go  out  unattended,  and,  except  on  one 
occasion,  he  got  back  again  safe  and  sound. 

This  one  occasion  was  early  in  December, 
when  Nature,  having  observed  that  the  great 
big  boys  had  got  through  playing  football  and 
were  beginning  to  think  of  snowballs,  sent  word 
to  the  Arctic  Cold  Weather  Company  that  she 
desired  to  have  delivered  at  once  five  days  of 
low  temperature  for  general  distribution  among 
her  friends,  which  days  were  sent  through  by 
special  messenger,  arriving  late  on  the  night  of 
December  1st.  giving  great  satisfaction  to  every- 
body, particularly  to  those  who  deal  in  ice,  ear- 
tabs,  and  skates.  At  first  Jimmieboy's  mamma 
thought  that  Nature  was  perhaps  a  little  too 
generous  with  her  frosty  weather,  and  for  two 
days  she  kept  her  two  sons,  Jimmieboy  and  Russ, 
cooped  up  in  the  house,  laying  in  a  supply  of 
furnace  and  log-fire  heat  sufficiently  large  to 
keep  them  warm  until  the  third  day,  when  she 
thought  that  they  might  safely  go  out. 

Upon  the  third  day  Jimmieboy's  papa  said 
that  he  imagined  the  boys  were  warm  enough  to 
venture  out-of-doors,  so  they  were  bundled  up 
in  leggings,  fur-lined  coats,  flannel  bands,  scarfs, 
silk  handkerchiefs,  lamb's-wool  rugs,  and 


158          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"arctics,"  the  door  was  opened,  and  out  they 
went.  Jimmieboy  staid  out  seven  minutes,  and 
then  came  in  again  to  see  if  he  could  find  out 
why  his  nose  had  suddenly  changed  its  color, 
first  from  pink  to  red,  and  then  from  red  to  blue. 
He  also  wished  to  come  in,  he  said,  because  the 


OfiS. 
JIMMIEBOY  PREPARED  FOR  COLD  WEATHER. 

solid  iron  driver  of  his  red  express  wagon  had 
been  "freezed  stiff,"  and  he  was  afraid  if  he 
staid  out  much  longer  he'd  never  thaw  out 
again.  Little  Russ,  on  the  contrary,  lying  luxuri- 
ously in  his  carriage,  with  no  part  of  him  visible 
save  the  tip  end  of  his  chin,  which  was  so  fat 
that  the  coverings  would  slip  off,  no  matter  how 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  JACK  FROST.  159 

hard  mamma  and  the  nurse  tried  to  make  them 
stay  on,  remained  out-of-dours  for  two  hours,  ap- 
parently very  comfortable.  His  great  blue  eyes 
shone  mirthfully  when  he  came  in,  and  until  six 
o'clock  that  evening  all  went  well  with  him,  and 
then  he  began  to  whimper. 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  baby?"  asked 
Jimmieboy. 

Little  Russ  made  no  reply  other  than  a  grim- 
ace, which  made  Jimmieboy  laugh,  at  which  the 


LITTLE  RUSS. 

baby  opened  his  mouth  as  wide  as  he  could  and 
shrieked  with  wrath. 

"I'm  inclined  to  think,"  said  the  nurse,  as  she 
sought  vainly  to  find  where  a  possible  pin  might 
be  creating  a  disturbance  to  the  baby's  discom- 
fiture— "I'm  inclined  to  think  that  perhaps  he's 
got  a  pain  somewhere." 

And  then  the  youthful  Russ  blinked  his  eyes, 
gave  another  shriek,  and  attempted  to  pout. 
Now  it  is  a  singular  way  little  Russ  has  of  pout- 


160          HALF-HO  UES  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

ing.  He  gets  it  from  his  mamma,  who  used  to 
pout  in  just  the  same  way  when  she  was  a  little 
girl — so  grandma  says — and  it  consists  entirely 
of  sticking  his  chin  out  as  far  as  he  can,  while 
concealing  his  lower  lip  as  much  as  possible  be- 
neath the  cherry-colored  Cupid's  bow  that  acts 
as  his  upper  lip.  A  proceeding  of  this  sort  al- 
ways results  in  making  that  chin  the  most  con- 
spicuous thing  in  the  room,  so  that  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  when  little  Russ  pouted  every  one  in 
the  room  should  at  once  notice  that  there  was  a 
great  red  spot  upon  it. 

"Why,  the  poor  little  soul  has  been  frost-bit- 
ten!" cried  mamma,  running  for  the  cold  cream 
—queer  thing  that,  by-the-way,  Jimmieboy 
thought.  He  would  have  put  warm  cream  on  a 
cold  sore  lik^  that. 

"So  he  is!"  ejaculated  papa,  with  an  indignant 
glance  at  the  chin,  which  only  caused  that  tax 
little  feature  to  pout  the  more.  "  Hadn't  I  better 
send  for  the  doctor?" 

"Does  clogs  frost-bite?"  queried  Jimmieboy, 
looking  a.round  the  room  for  a  stick  with  which 
to  beat  the  dog  that  had  done  the  biting,  if 
perchance  it  was  a  dog  that  was  respon- 
sible. 

"No,   indeed,"  said  papa.     "It  wasn't  a  dog; 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  JACK  FROST.  161 

it  was  Jack  Frost,  and  nobody  else.  He  ought 
to  be  muzzlegL" 

"Who  is  Jack  Frost,  papa?"  Jimmieboy  asked, 
so  much  interested  in  Jack  that  he  for  a  moment 
forgot  his  suffering  small  brother. 

"Jack?  Why,  Jack  is  a  man  named  Frost, 
who  deals  in  cold,  and  he  goes  around  in  winter 
biting  people.  He's  a  sort  of  iceman,  only  he's 
retired  from  trade,  and  gives  things  away,  to 
people  who  don't  want  'em.  It  would  be  better 
if  he'd  go  into  business,  and  sell  his  favors  to 
people  who  do  want  'em." 

"Well,  he's  a  naughty  man,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Yes,  indeed,  he  is,"  said  papa.  "Why,  he's 
the  man  who  withered  all  your  mamma's  plants, 
and  painted  our  nice  green  lawn  white;  and 
then,  when  we  wanted  to  dig  holes  for  the  fence 
posts,  he  came  along  and  made  the  ground  so 
hard  it  took  all  the  edge  off  the  spade,  and  made 
the  hired  man  so  tired  that  he  overslept  himself 
that  night  and  let  the  furnace  go  out." 

"Can't  somebody  catch  him,  and  put  him  into 
prism?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"Oh,  he's  been  in  prism  lots  of  times,"  said 
papa,  with  a  laugh  at  Jimmieboy 's  droll  word; 
"but  he  manages  to  get  out  again." 

"Where  does  he  live,  papa?"  asked  the  boy. 


162          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

''All  around  in  winter.  In  summer  he  goes 
north  for  his  health." 

"And  can't  anybody  ever  get  rid  of  him?" 

"No.  The  only  way  to  do  that  successfully 
would  be  to  burn  him  out,  and  so  far  nobody  has 
ever  been  able  to  do  it  entirely.  You  can  put  him 
out  of  your  own  house;  but,  if  he  wants  to,  he'll 
stay  around  the  place  and  nip  your  plants,  and 
freeze  up  your  wells,  and  put  a  web  of  ice  on 
your  grass  and  sidewalks  in  spite  of  anything 
you  can  do." 

By  this  time  little  Russ  had  quieted  down  and 
gone  to  sleep.  The  cold  cream,  aided  by  a  huge 
bottleful  of  the  food  he  liked  best,  which  warmed 
up  his  little  heart  and  various  other  parts  of  his 
being,  to  which  the  world  had  for  a  little  while 
seemed  bleak  and  drear,  had  put  him  in  a  con- 
tented frame  of  mind,  and  if  the  smile  on  his 
lips  meant  anything  he  had  forgotten  his  woes 
in  dreams  of  sweet  and  lovely  things. 

It  was  not  so,  however,  with  Jimmieboy,  who 
grew  more  and  more  indignant  as  he  thought  of 
that  great  lumbering  ice-man,  Jack  Frost,  com- 
ing along  and  biting  his  dear  little  brother  in 
that  cruel  fashion.  It  was  simply  cowardly,  he 
thought.  Of  course  Jimmiebo}7  could  understand 
how  any  one  might  wish  to  take  a  bite  of  some- 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  JACK  FROST.  163 

thing  that  was  as  sweet  as  little  Russ  was,  and 
when  mosquitoes  did  it  he  was  not  disposed  to 
quarrel  with  them,  because  it  was  courageous  in 
a  minute  insect  like  a  mosquito  to  risk  his  life 
for  his  sweetmeats,  but  with  Jack  Frost  it  was 
different.  Why  didn't  he  take  a  man  of  his  size 
like  papa,  for  instance,  or  the  grocer  man?  He 
was  afraid  to— that  was  it — and  so  he  fastened 
upon  a  poor,  helpless  little  man  like  Russ,  only 
eleven  months  old. 

"He  ought  to  be  hitted  on  the  head,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy. 

"That  wouldn't  do  any  good,"  said  papa.  "It 
wouldn't  hurt  him  a  bit.  You  couldn't  kill  him 
with  a  hundred  ice-picks,  and  I  don't  believe 
even  a  steam-drill  would  lay  him  up  more  than  a 
week.  What  he's  afraid  of  is  heat — only  heat, 
and  nothing  else.  That  cracks  him  all  up  and 
melts  him,  so  that  he  can't  bite  anything." 

Then  Jimmieboy  had  his  supper  and  began 
playing  with  his  toys  until  bedtime  should  come, 
but  all  the  time  his  mind  was  on  that  cruel  Jack 
Frost.  Something  else  in  the  room  was  thinking 
about  it,  too,  only  Jimmieboy  didn't  know  it. 
The  little  gas-stove  that  stood  guard  over  by  the 
fire-place  was  quite  as  angry  about  Jack's  be- 
havior as  anybody,  but  he  kept  very  still  until 


164         HALF-HOURS  WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 

along  abouc  eight  o'clock  when  he  began  to  sput- 
ter. 

Jimmieboy  stopped  pushing  his  iron  engine 
over  the  floor,  and  looked  with  heavy  eyes  at 
the  gas-stove.  This  was  extraordinary  behavior 
for  the  stove,  and  Jimmieboy  wondered  what 
was  the  matter. 

"Say!"  whispered  the  stove,  as  Jimmieboy 
looked  at  him.  "Let's  get  after  that  Frost  fellow 
and  make  him  wish  he  never  was  born." 

Jimmieboy  said  nothing  to  this.  He  was  too 
much  surprised  to  say  anything— the  idea  of  a 
gas-stove  speaking  to  him  was  so  absurd.  He 
only  gazed  steadfastly  at  the  extraordinary  thing 
in  the  fireplace,  and  then  let  his  head  droop 
down  on  his  arms  as  he  lay  on  the  floor,  and  in 
a  moment  would  have  been  asleep  had  not  the 
stove  again  sputtered. 

"Hi!  Jimmieboy!"  it  cried.  "Don't  go  to  sleep. 
I  know  where  Jack  Frost  lives,  and  we'll  get 
after  him  and  punish  him  for  what  he  did  to  lit- 
tle Russ." 

"How?"  asked  Jimmieboy,  crawling  across  the 
room  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  looking 
earnestly  at  this  strange  gas-stove. 

"Never  mind  how."  returned  the  Stove.  "I'll 
tell  you  that  later.  The  point  is,  will  you  go?  If 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  JACK  FROST.  165 

you  will  say  the  word  I'll  make  all  the  arrange- 
ments, and  we'll  set  off  after  everybody  has  gone 
to  bed.  It  is  a  beautiful  moonlight  night. 
Everything  is  just  right  for  a  successful  trip. 
There's  enough  snow  on  the  ground  for  the  sleigh, 
to  move,  and  the  river's  all  frozen  over  except 
in  the  middle.  We  can  skate  as  far  as  the  ice 
goes,  and  then,  if  there  is  no  boat,  we  can  put 
on  your  papa's  arctics,  and  walk  across  the  water 
to  the  other  side.  From  there  it's  only  a  forty- 
minute  skate  to  Jack's  home.  He'll  come  in 
about  twelve  o'clock,  and  we'll  have  him  just 
where  we  want  him.  What  do  you  say?" 

"I'll  be  in  bed  by  the  time  you  want  to  start," 
said  Jiinmieboy.  "I'd  like  to  do  it  very  much, 
but  I  don't  know  how  to  dress  myself,  and — 

"Never  mind  that,"  returned  the  Gas  Stove. 
"Go  as  you  are." 

"In  my  night-gown?  On  a  cold  night  like 
this?"  queried  the  little  fellow,  more  than  ever 
astonished  at  the  Gas  Stove's  peculiarities. 

"Why,  certainly.  I'll  see  that  you  are  kept 
warm,"  returned  the  stove.  "I've  got  warmth 
enough  for  twenty-six  as  it  is,  and  if  there's  only 
two  of  us—  why,  you  see  how  it'll  be.  It'll  be 
too  warm  for  two  of  us." 

"That's     so,"     said     Jimmieboy. 


166         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

thought  of  it  that  wav.     I  might  sit  on  your   lap 
if  I  couldn't  keep  warm  any  other  way,  eh?" 

"I've  got  a  better  way  than  that,"  said  the 
Stove,  dancing  a  little  jig  on  the  tiles.  "I'll  get 
you  a  pair  of  gas  gloves,  some  gas  ear-tabs,  a 
patent  nose  furnace,  an  overcoat  lined  with  gas- 
jets  that  can  be  lit  so  as  to  keep  you  warm  with- 
out burning  you,  and  leggings,  shoes,  hats,  and 


THE  GAS-STOVE  TAPPED  HIM  LIGHTLY   ON  THE  SHOULDER. 

everything  you  need  to  make  you  feel  as  happy 
and  warm  as  a  poached  egg  on  toast." 

"That'll  be  splendid,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "I'll 
go,  and  we'll  fix  Jack  so  that  he  won't  bite  any 
of  our  people  any  more,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Gas  Stove,  delighted  at  the 
prospect. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  JACK  F&OST.  167 

"  Shall  we  muzzle  him?"  asked  Jimmieboy.  But 
the  Gas  Stove  only  winked,  for  just  then  mamma 
came  up  stairs  from  dinner,  and  as  it  was  Jim- 
mieboy's  nurse's  night  out.  his  mamma  un- 
dressed the  little  fellow,  and  put  him  in  his  crib, 
where  he  shortly  dropped  off  to  sleep. 

In  a  little  while  everybody  in  the  house  had 
gone  to  bed,  and  when  the  last  light  had  been 
extinguished  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  Jim- 
mieboy slept  was  slowly  opened,  and  the  Gas 
Stove,  all  his  lights  turned  down  so  that  nobody 
could  see  him  in  the  darkness,  tiptoed  in,  and 
climbing  upon  the  side  of  Jimmieboy's  crib 
tapped  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

"All  ready?"  he  said,  in  a  low  whisper. 

"Yes,"  answered  Jimmieboy,  softly,  as  he 
arose  and  got  down  on  the  floor.  "  How  do  we 
go?  Down  the  stairs?" 

"No,"  replied  the  Gas  Stove.  "We'll  take  the 
toy  balloon  up  the  chimney." 

Which  they  at  once  proceeded  to  do. 


I6d         HALF-HOURS  WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 


XIV. 

IN   WHICH    JIMMIEBOY   AND   THE   GAS   STOVE   MAKE 
A    START. 

"NTOW  jump  into  the  sleigh   just   as   quickly 

1  i  as  you  can,  Jimmieboy,"  said  the  Stove,  as 
they  issued  fortli  into  the  cold  night  air.  "Put 
on  that  fur  cap  and  the  overcoat,  shoes,  and 
gloves,  and  I'll  light  'em  up." 

"They  won't  burn,  for  sure?"  queried  Jimmie- 
boy, nervously,  for  the  idea  of  wearing  clothes 
heated  by  gas  was  a  little  bit  terrifying. 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  the  Stove  in  reply.  "I 
wouldn't  give  'em  to  you  if  they  would.  Thanks," 
he  added,  turning  and  throwing  a  ten-cent  piece 
to  a  gas  boy,  who  handed  him  the  reins  by  which 
the  horses  were  controlled.  "We'll  be  back  about 
sunrise." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  boy.  "Do  you  want  me 
turned  on  all  night,  sir?" 


JIMM2EBOY  AND  THE  GAS-STOVK        160 

"No,"  answered  the  Stove.  "Gas  is  expensive 
these  days.  You  can  turn  yourself  out  right 
away.  Have  you  fed  the  horses?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy.  "They've  each  had 
four  thousand  feet  by  the  meter  for  supper." 

"Fuel  or  illuminating?"  queried  the  Stove. 

"Illuminating,"  replied  the  boy. 


"THIS  IS  PRETTY  FINE,  EH1"  SAID  THE  GAS-STOVE. 

" Good,"  said  the  Stove.  "  That  ought  to  make 
them  bright.  Good-by.  Get  up!" 

With  this  the  horses  made  a  spring  forward- 
fiery  steeds  in  very  truth,  their  outlines  in  jets, 
each  burning  a  small  flame,  standing  out  like 
lines  of  stars  in  the  sky. 

"This  is  pretty  fine,  eh?"  said  the  Gas  Stove, 
with  a  smile,  which,  had  any  one  looked,  must 


170         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

have;  been  visible  for  miles,  so  light  and  cheerful 
was  it. 

"Lovely!"  cried  Jimmieboy,  almost  gasping  in 
ecstasy.  "I'm  just  as  warm  and  comfortable  as 
can  be.  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  team  like  this." 

"Ah,  my  boy,"  returned  the  Stove,  "there's 
lots  you  don't  know.  For  instance  : 

"You  don't  know  why  a  fire  will  burn 

On  hot  days  merrily  ; 
And  when  the  cold  days  come,  will  turn 
As  cold  as  I-C-E  ! 

"You  don't  know  why  the  puppies  bark, 

Or  why  snap-turtles  snap  ; 
Or  why  a  horse  runs  round  the  park, 
Because  you  say,  'git-ap.' 

"You  don't  know  why  a  peach  has  fuzz 

Upon  its  pinky  cheek  ; 
Or  what  the  poor  Dumb-Crambo  does 
When  he  desires  to  speak. 

"Do  you?  " 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "But  I  should 
like  to  very  much." 

"So  should  I,"  said  the  Stove.  "We're  very 
much  alike  in  a  great  many  respects,  and  par- 
ticularly in  those  in  which  we  resemble  each 
other." 

The  truth  of  this  was  so  evident  that  Jimmie- 


J1MMIEBOY  AND  THE  GAS-STOVE.       171 

boy  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  in  answer  to  it, 
so  he  merely  observed:  "I'm  awful  hungry." 

This  was  a  favorite  remark  of  his,  particularly 
between  meals. 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  Stove.  "Let's  see  what 
we've  got  here.  Just  hold  the  reins  while  I  dive 
down  into  the  lunch  basket." 

Jimmieboy  took  the  reins  with  some  fear  at 
first,  but  when  he  saw  that  they  were  high  up 
in  the  air  where  there  was  really  nothing  but  a 
star  or  two  to  run  into,  and  realized  that  even  they 
were  millions  of  miles  away,  he  soon  got  used  to 
it,  and  was  sorry  when  the  Stove  resumed  control. 
"There,  Jimmieboy,"  said  the  Stove,  as  he 
drew  his  hand  out  of  the  basket.  "There's  a  nice 
hot  ginger-snap  for  you.  I  think  I'll  take  a  snack 
of  this  fuel  gas  myself." 

"You  don't  eat  gas,  do  you?"  asked  the  small 
passenger. 

"I  guess  I  do,"  ejaculated  the  Stove,  with  a 
smack  of  his  lips.  "  As  our  Gas  Poet  Laureate 
said  : 

"Oh,  kerosene 

Is  good,  I  ween, 
And  so  is  apple  sass  ; 
But  bring  for  me, 
Oh,  chickadee, 
A  bowl  of  fuel  gas  ! 


172         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Some  persons  like 

The  red  beefstike, 
The  cow  just  dotes  on  grass — 

Bat  to  my  mind 

No  one  can  find 
More  toothsome  things  than  gas. 

u  And  so  I  say, 

Bring  me  no  hay  ; 
No  roasted  deep-sea  bass. 

Bring  me  no  pease, 

Or  fricassees, 
If,  haply,  you  have  gas." 

It's  easy  to  eat,  too,"  added  the  Stove.  "In 
fact,  I  heard  your  papa  say  we  consumed  too 
much  of  it  one  day  when  he'd  got  his  bill  from 
the  gas  butcher." 

"Do  you  chew  it?"  asked  Jimmieboy. 

"No,  indeed.  We  take  it  in  through  a  pipe.  It 
isn't  like  soup  or  meat,  though  I  sometimes  think 
if  people  could  take  soup  out  of  a  pipe  instead  of 
from  a  spoon  they'd  look  handsomer  while  they 
were  eating.  But  the  great  thing  about  it  is  it's 
always  ready,  and  if  it  comes  cold,  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  touch  a  match  to  it,  and  it  gets  as  hot 
as  you  could  want." 

"I  should  think  you'd  get  tired  of  it,"  said 
Jimmieboy. 

"Not  at  all.     There's  a  great  variety  in  gases. 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  GAS-STOVE.        173 

There's  fuel  gas,  ill  animating  gas,  laughing  gas, 
attagas — 

"What's  that  last?"  queried  Jimmieboy. 

"  Attagas  ?  Why,  when  we  want  a  game  din- 
ner, we  have  attagas.  If  you  will  look  it  up  in 
the  dictionary  you  will  find  that  it's  a  sort  of 
partridge.  It's  mighty  good,  too,  with  a  sauce  of 
stev/ed  gasberries,  and  a  mug  or  two  of  gaspar- 
illo  to  wash  it  down." 

Here  Jimmieboy  smacked  his  lips.  Gaspar- 
illo  truly  sounded  as  if  it  might  be  very  delight- 
ful, though  I  don't  myself  belive  it  is  any  less 
bitter  to  the  taste  than  some  other  barks  of  trees, 
such  as  quinine,  for  instance. 

"Howdy  do?"  said  the  Stove,  with  a  familiar 
nod  to  the  east  of  them. 

"Howdy  do!"  replied  Jimmieboy. 

"I  wasn't  speaking  to  you,"  said  the  Stove, 
with  a  laugh.  "  I  was  only  nodding  to  an  old 
friend  of  mine ;  he's  got  a  fine  place  up  in  the 
sky  there.  His  name  is  Sirius.  They  call  him 
the  dog-star,  and  all  he  has  to  do  is  twinkle.  You 
can't  see  him  all  the  time  from  your  house,  but 
when  you  get  up  as  high  as  this  he  stands  right 
out  and  twinkles  at  you.  Pretty  good  fellow, 
Sirius  is.  I  might  have  had  his  place,  but  some- 
how or  other  I  prefer  to  work  in-dcors  and  rest 


174          HALF- HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

nights.  Sirius  is  out  all  the  time,  and  has  to  keep 
awake  all  night.  But  we've  got  to  get  down  to  the 
earth  again.  Here's  where  we  take  to  the  skates." 

Jimmieboy  looked  over  the  edge  of  the  sleigh 
as  the  horses  turned  in  response  to  a  movement 
of  the  reins,  and  started  down  to  earth.  He 
saw  a  great  white  river  below  him,  flowing 
silently  along  a  narrow  winding  channel,  every- 
thing on  tha  border  of  which  seemed  bathed  in 
silver  except  the  middle  of  the  river  itself,  a  strip 
of  forty  or  fifty  feet  in  width,  which  was  not 
frozen  over. 

"That's  Frostland,"  whispered  the  Gas  Stove. 
"We  can't  get  over  to  the  other  side  with  this 
team  because  they  are  very  skittish,  and  if  the 
sleigh  were  overturned  and  our  ammunition  lost 
we  should  be  lost  ourselves.  We've  got  to  land 
directly  below  where  we  are  now,  skate  to  the 
edge  of  the  ice  on  this  bank,  row  over  to  the 
other,  and  then  skate  again  directly  to  the 
palace.  We  mustn't  let  anybody  know  who  we 
really  are,  either,  or  we  may  have  trouble,  and 
we  want  to  avoid  that ;  for  you  know,  Jimmie- 
boy, 

"The  man  who  gets  along  without 

A  care  or  bit  of  strife, 
Is  certain  sure,  beyond  all  doubt, 
To  lead  a  happy  life." 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  GAS-STOVE.        175 

"But  I  can't  skate,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"You  can  slide,  can't  you?"  asked  the  Stove. 

"Yes,  both  ways.  Standing  up  and  sitting 
down." 

"Well,  my  patent  steam  skates,  operated  by 
gas,  will  attend  to  all  the  rest  if  you  will  only 
stand  up  straight,"  returned  the  Stove,  and  the 
sleigh  dropped  lightly  down  to  the  earth,  and 
the  two  crusaders  against  Jack  Frost  alighted. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful  here?"  said  Jimmieboy,  as 
he  looked  about  him  and  saw  superb  tall  tr^es, 
their  leaves  white  and  glistening  in  the  moon- 
light, bound  in  an  icy  covering  that  kept  them 
always  as  he  saw  them  then.  "  And  look  at  the 
flowers,"  he  added,  joyously,  as  he  caught  sight 
of  a  bed  of  rose-bushes,  only  the  flowers  were 
lustrous  as  silver  and  of  the  same  dazzling  white- 
ness. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Gas  Stove,  sadly.  "Every 
time  Jack  Frost  withers  a  flower  or  a  plant  he 
brings  it  here,  and  it  remains  forever  as  you  see 
them  now;  he  has  had  the  choice  of  the  most 
beautiful  things  in  the  world.  But  come,  we 
must  hurry.  Put  on  these  skates." 

Jimmieboy  did  as  he  was  told,  and  then  the 
Stove  lit  a  row  of  small  jets  of  gas  along  the 
steel  runners  of  the  skates,  and  they  grew  warm 


176          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

to  Jimmieboy's  feet,  and  in  a  moment  little  puffs 
of  steam  issued  forth  from  them,  and  Jimmie- 
boy  began  to  move,  slowly  at  first,  and  then  more 
and  more  quickly,  until  he  was  racing  at  break- 
neck speed. 

"Hi,  Stovey!"  he  cried,  very  much  alarmed 
to  find  himself  speeding  off  through  this  strange 
country  all  alone.  "  Hurry  up  and  catch  me,  or 
I'll  be  out  of  sight." 

"Keep  on,"  hallooed  the  Stove  in  return. 
"Don't  bother  about  me.  I've  got  four  feet  to 
your  two,  and  I  can  go  twice  as  fast  as  you  do. 
Keep  on  straight  ahead,  and  I'll  be  up  with  you 
in  a  minute — just  as  soon  as  I  can  get  the  am- 
munition and  my  hose  out." 

"I  wonder  what  he's  going  to  do  with  the 
hose?"  Jimmieboy  asked  himself.  The  Stove  was 
too  far  behind  him  for  the  little  skater  to  ask 
him. 

"Halt!"  cried  a  voice  in  front  of  Jimmieboy. 

"I  can't,"  gasped  the  little  fellow,  very  much 
frightened,  for  as  he  gazed  through  the  darkness 
to  see  who  it  was  that  addressed  him,  he  per- 
ceived a  huge  snow  man  standing  directly  in  his 
path. 

"You  must,"  cried  the   Snow   Man,   opening 
his  mouth  and  breathing  forth  an  icy  blast  that 


JIMM1EBOY  AND  THE  GAS-STOVE.        177 

nearly  froze  the  water  in  Jimmieboy's  eyes. 
"You  shall!"  he  added,  opening  his  arms  wide, 
so  that  before  he  knew  it  Jimmieboy  was  pre- 
cipitated into  them. 


"HALT!"  CRIED  A  VOICE  IN  FRONT. 

"See?"  said  the  Snow  Man.  "I  can  compel 
y " 

The  Snow  Man  never  got  any  further  with  this 
remark,  for  in  a  moment  Jimmieboy  passed 


178          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

straight  through  him.  The  heat  of  Jimmieboy's 
clothes  had  melted  a  hole  through  the  Snow 
Man,  and  as  the  small  skater  turned  to  look  at 
his  adversary  he  saw  him  standing  there,  his 
head,  his  sides,  and  legs  still  intact,  but  from  his 
waist  down  all  the  middle  part  of  him  had  dis- 
appeared. 

"Dear  me  !     How  sad,"  Jimmieboy  said. 

"Not  at  all,"  responded  a  voice  beside  him. 
"It  serves  him  right;  he's  the  meanest  Snow 
Man  that  ever  lived.  If  you  hadn't  melted  him 
he'd  have  turned  himself  into  an  avalanche,  and 
then  you'd  have  been  buried  so  deep  in  snow 
and  ice  you'd  never  have  got  out." 

"Who  are  you?"  queried  Jimmieboy,  with  a 
startled  glance  in  the  direction  whence  the  voice 
seemed  to  come. 

"Only  what  you  hear,"  replied  the  voice.  "I 
am  a  voice.  Jack  Frost  froze  the  rest  of  me  and 
carted  it  away,  and  left  me  here  for  the  rest  of 
my  life." 

"What  were  you?" 

"I  cannot  remember,"  said  the  voice.  "I  may 
have  been  anything  you  can  think  of.  You  could 
stand  there  and  call  me  ail  the  names  you  chose, 
and  I  couldn't  deny  that  I  was  any  of 
them, 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  GAS-STOVE.        179 

"Sometimes  I  think  I  may  have  been 

A  piece  of  apple  pie  ; 
Perhaps  a  great  and  haughty  queen, 
Perhaps  a  gaily  dressed  marine, 

In  former  days  was  I. 

UI  may  have  been  a  calendar, 

To  tell  some  man  the  date ; 
I  may  have  been  a  railway  car, 
A  rocket  or  a  shooting  star, 

Or  e'en  a  roller  skate. 

"  I  may  have  been  a  jar  of  jam, 
Perhaps  a  watch  and  chain  ; 
I  may  have  been  a  boy  named  Sam, 
An  oyster  or  a  toothsome  clam, 
Perhaps  a  weather  vane. 

"I  may  have  been  a  pot  of  ink, 

A  sloop  or  schooner  yacht ; 
I  may  have  been  the  missing  link, 
But  ivhat  I  was  I  cannot  think — 

For  I  have  quite  forgot. 

All  I  know  is  that  I  was  something  once;  that 
Jack  Frost  came  along  and  caught  me  and  added 
me  to  his  collection  of  curiosities,  where  I  have 
been  ever  since.  They  call  me  the  invisible  chat- 
ter-box, and  tell  visitors  that  I  escaped  from  the 
National  Vocabulary  at  Washington." 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  you/'  said  Jimmieboy, 
sympathetically. 

needn't  be,"  said  the  voice,  "I'm  happy ! 


180         HALF-HOURS  WITH  J1MMIEBOY. 

I'm  the  only  curiosity  here  that  can  be  im- 
pudent to  King  Jack.  I  can  say  what  I  please, 
you  know,  and  there's  no  way  of  punishing  me; 
I'm  like  a  newspaper  in  that  respect.  I  can  go 
into  any  home,  high  or  low.  say  what  I  please, 
and  there  you  are.  Nobody  can  hurt  me  at  all. 
Oh,  it's  just  immense.  I  play  all  sorts  of  tricks 


THE  SNOW  MAN. 

on  Jack,  too.  I  get  right  up  in  front  of  his  mouth 
and  talk  ridiculous  nonsense,  and  people  think 
he  says  it.  Why,  only  the  other  night  a  Snow 
Man  I  don't  like  went  in  to  see  Jack,  and  Jack 
liked  him  tremendously,  too,  and  was  really  glad 
to  see  him  j  but  before  the  King  had  a  chance  to 


JIMMIEBOY  AND  THE  GAS-STOVE.        I8t 

say  a  word  I  hallooed  out:  'Get  out  of  here,  you 
donkey.  Go  make  snowballs  of  your  head  and 
throw  them  at  yourself;'  and  the  Snow  Man 
thought  Jack  said  it,  and,  do  you  know,  he  went 
outside  and  did  it.  He's  been  laid  up  ever 
since." 

"I  think  that  was  a  very  mean  thing  to  do," 
said  Jimmieboy. 

"I'd  agree  with  you  if  I  had  any  conscience, 
but  alas!  they've  deprived  me  of  that  too," 
sighed  the  voice.  "But  look  out,"  it  added, 
hastily.  "Throw  yourself  into  that  snow-bank 
or  you'll  fall  into  the  river." 

Without  waiting  to  think  why,  Jimmieboy 
obeyed  the  voice  and  threw  himself  headlong  into 
a  huge  snow  bank  at  his  side,  and  glanced  anx- 
iously about  him. 

He  was  indeed,  as  the  voice  had  said,  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  ice,  and  another  yard's  advance 
would  have  landed  him  head  over  heels  in  the 
rushing  water. 

"That  would  have  been  awful,  wouldn't  it?"  he 
said  to  the  Stove,  as  his  little  friend  came  up. 

"Yes,  it  would,"  returned  the  Stove.  "It  would 
have  put  out  the  lights  in  your  clothes,  and  that 
would  have  been  very  awful,  for  I  find  we  have 
come  away  without  any  matches.  Jump  into  the 


182         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

boat,  now,  and  row  as  straight  for  the  other  side 
as  you  can." 

Jimmieboy  looked  about  him  for  a  boat,  but 
couldn't  see  one. 

"There  is  no  boat,"  lie  said. 

"Yes,  there  is — jump!"  cried  the  Stove. 

And  Jimmieboy  jumped,  and,  strange  to  relate, 
found  himself  in  an  instant  seated  amidships  in 
an  exquisitely  light  row-boat  made  entirely  of 
ice. 

"Row  fast,  now,"  said  the  Stove.  "If  you  don't 
the  boat  will  melt  before  we  can  get  across." 


IN  THE  HEART  OP  FROSTLAND.         183 


XV. 

IN  THE   HEART   OF   FROSTLAND. 

WE'RE  afloat ! 
We're  afloat ! 
In  our  trim  ice-boat ; 
And  we  row — 
Yeave  ho ' 

"I  guess  I  won't  sing  any  more."  said  the  Gas 
Stove.  "  It's  a  hard  song  to  sing,  that  is,  par- 
ticularly when  you've  never  heard  it  before,  and 
can't  think  of  another  rhyme  for  boat." 

"That's  easy  enough  to  find,"  returned  Jim- 
mieboy,  pulling  at  the  oars.  "  Coat  rhymes  with 
boat,  and  so  do  note  and  moat  and  goat  and— 

"Very  true,"  assented  the  Stove,  "but  it 
wouldn't  do  to  use  coat  because  we  take  our 
coats  off  when  we  row.  Note  is  good  enough  but 
you  don't  have  time  to  write  one  when  you  are 
singing  a  sea-song.  Moat  isn't  any  good,  because 


184          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

nobody 'd  know  whether  you  meant  the  moat  of 
a  castle,  a  sun-moat,  or  the  one  in  your  eye. 
As  for  goats,  goats  don't  go  well  in  poetry.  So  I 
guess  ifr's  just  as  well  to  stop  singing  right  here." 

"How  fast  we  go!"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"What  did  you  expect?"  asked  the  Stove.  "The 
bottom  of  this  boat  is  as  slippery  as  can  be,  and, 
of  course,  going  up  the  river  against  the  current 
we  get  over  the  water  faster  than  if  we  were 
going  the  other  way  because  we— er— because  we 
— well  because  we  do." 

"Seems  to  me,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "I'd  better 
turn  out  some  of  1he  gas  in  my  coat.  I'm  melt- 
ing right  through  the  seat  here." 

"So  am  I,"  returned  the  Stove,  with  an  anx- 
ious glance  at  the  icy  craft.  "  It  won't  be  more 
than  a  minute  before  I  melt  my  end  of  the  boat 
-all  to  pieces.  I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  take  to 
our  arctics  after  all.  I  brought  a  pair  of  your 
father's  along,  and  it's  a  good  thing  for  us  that 
he  has  big  feet,  for  you'll  have  to  get  in  one  and 
I  in  the  other." 

Just  then  the  stern  of  the  boat  melted  away, 
and  the  Stove,  springing  up  from  his  seat  and 
throwing  himself  into  one  of  the  arctics,  with 
his  ammunition  and  rubber  hose,  floated  off. 
Jimmieboy  had  barely  time  to  get  into  the  other 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  FROSTLAND.          185 

arctic  when  his  end  of  the  ice-boat  also  gave 
way,  and  a  cross-current  in  the  stream  catching 
the  arctic  whirled  it  about  and  carried  it  and  its 
little  passenger  far  away  from  the  Stove  who 
shortly  disappeared  around  a  turn  in  the  river, 
so  that  Jirnmieboy  was  left  entirely  alone  in  ut- 
ter ignorance  as  to  where  he  really  was  or  what 
he  should  do  next.  Generally  Jimmieboy  was 
a  very  brave  little  boy,  but  he  found  his  present 
circumstances  rather  trying.  To  be  floating 
down  a  strange  river  in  a  large  overshoe,  with 
absolutely  no  knowledge  of  the  way  home,  and  a 
very  dim  notion  only  as  to  how  he  had  managed 
to  get  where  he  was,  was  terrifying,  and  when 
he  realized  his  position,  great  tears  fell  from  Jim- 
mieboy's  eyes,  freezing  into  little  pearls  of  ice 
before  they  landed  in  the  bottom  of  the  golosh, 
where  they  piled  up  so  rapidly  that  the  strange 
craft  sank  further  and  further  into  the  water  and 
would  certainly  have  sunk  with  their  weight 
had  not  the  voice  Jimmieboy  had  encountered  a 
little  while  before  come  to  his  rescue. 

"Golosh,  ahoy!"  cried  the  voice.  "Captain! 
Captain!  Lean  over  the  side  and  cry  in  the  river 
or  you'll  sink  your  boat." 

The  sound  of  the  voice  was  a  great  relief  to  the 
little  sailor  who  at  once  tried  to  obey  the  order 


186 


HALF-HOURS  WITH  JlMMlEBOY. 


lie   had  received  but  found  it  unnecessary  since 
his  tears  immediately  dried  up. 


GOLOSH,  AHOY 


"Come  out  herein  the  boat  with  me!"  cried 
Jimmieboy.  "I'm  awful  lonesome  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do." 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  FROSTLAND.         187 

"Then  there  is  only  one  thing  you  can  do,"  said 
the  voice  from  a  point  directly  over  the  buckle 
of  the  arctic.  "And  that  is  to  sit  still  and  let 
time  show  you.  It's  a  great  thing,  Jimmieboy, 
when  you  don't  know  what  to  do  and  can'i  find 
any  one  to  tell  you,  to  sit  down  and  do  nothing, 
because  if  you  did  something  you'd  be  likely  to 
find  out  afterwards  that  it  was  the  wrong  thing. 
When  I  was  young,  in  the  days  when  I  was 
what  I  used  to  be,  I  once  read  a  poem  that  has 
lingered  with  me  ever  since.  It  was  called 
'Wait  and  See'  and  this  is  the  way  it  went: 

"When  you  are  puzzled  what  to  do, 

And  no  one's  nigh  to  help  you  out ; 
You'll  find  it  for  the  best  that  you 
Should  wait  until  Time  gives  the  clew. 
And  then  your  business  go  about — 
Of  this  there  is  no  doubt. 

"Just  see  the  cow  !     She  never  knows 

What's  going  to  happen  next,  so  she 
Contented  'mongst  the  daises  goes, 
In  clover  from  her  head  to  toes, 
From  care  and  trouble  ever  free — 
She  simply  waits,  you  see  ! 

"The  horse,  unlike  the  cow,  in  fear 

Jumps  to  and  fro  at  maddest  rate, 
Tears  down  the  street,  doth  snort  and  rear, 


188         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

And  knocks  the  wagon  out  of  gear — 
And  just  because  he  does  not  wait, 
His  woes  accumulate. 

"D.  Crockett,  famous  in  the  past, 

The  same  sage  thought  hath  briefly  wed 
To  words  that  must  forever  last, 
Wherever  haply  they  be  cast : 
'Be  sure  you're  right,  then  go  ahead,' 
"That's  what  D.  Crockett  said. 

Lots  in  that.  If  you  don't  now  what  to  do,"  con- 
tinued the  voice,  "don't  do  it." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Jimmiehoy.  "  But  do  you  know 
where  we  are?" 

"Yes."  said  the  voice.  "  I  am  here  and  you  are 
there,  and  I  think  it  we  stay  just  as  we  are  for- 
ever there  is  not  likely  to  he  any  change,  so  why 
repine?  We  are  happy." 

Just  then  the  golosh  passed  into  a  huge  cavern, 
whose  sides  glistened  like  silver,  and  from  the 
roof  of  which  hung  millions  of  beautiful  and  at 
times  fantastically  shaped  icicles. 

"This,"  said  the  voice,  "is  the  gateway  to  the 
Kingdom  of  Frostland.  At  the  far  end  you  will 
see  a  troop  of  ice  soldiers  standing  guard.  I  doubt 
very  much  if  you  can  get  by  them,  unless  you 
have  retained  a  great  deal  of  that  heat  you  had. 
How  is  it?  Are  you  still  lit?" 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  FROSTLAND.          189 

"I  am,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "Just put  your  hand 
on  my  chest  and  see  how  hot  it  is." 

"Can't  do  it,"  returned  the  voice,  "for  two 
reasons.  First,  I  haven't  a  hand  to  do  it  with, 
and  secondly,  if  I  had.  I  couldn't  see  with  it. 
People  don't  see  with  their  hands  any  more  than 
they  sing  with  their  toes ;  but  say,  Jimmieboy, 
wouldn't  it  be  funny  if  we  could  do  all  those 
things — eh?  What  a  fine  poem  this  would  be  if 
it  were  only  sensible: 

"  A  singular  song  having  greeted  my  toes, 
I  stared  till  I  weakened  the  sight  of  my  nose 
To  see  what  it  was,  and  observed  a  sweet  voice 
Come  forth  from  the  ears  of  Lucinda,  so  choice. 

"  I  cast  a  cough-drop  in  the  lovely  one's  eyes, 
Who  opened  her  hands  in  a  tone  of  surprise, 
And  remarked,  in  a  way  that  startled  my  wife, 

'I  never  was  treated  so  ill  in  my  life.' 

"Then  tears  in  a  torrent  coursed  over  her  arms, 
And  the  blush  on  her  teeth  much   heightened  her 

charms, 
As,  tossing  the  cough-drop  straight  back,  with  a 

sneeze, 
She  smashed  th^  green  goggles  I  wear  on  my  knees.'' 

Jimmieboy  laughed  so  long  and  so  loudly  at 
this  poetical  effusion  that  he  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  guards,  who  immediately  loaded  their 


190         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

guns  and  began  to  pepper  the  invaders  with 
snowballs. 

"  Throw  yourself  down  on  your  stomach  in  the 
toe  of  the  golosh,"  whispered  the  voice,  "and 
they'll  never  know  you  are  there.  Keep  perfectly 
quiet,  and  when  any  questions  are  asked,  even  if 
you  are  discovered,  let  me  answer  them.  I  can 
disguise  myself  so  that  they  won't  recognize  me, 
and  they'll  think  I'm  your  voice.  In  this  way  I 
think  I  can  get  you  through  in  safety." 

So  Jimmieboy  threw  himself  down  in  the 
golosh,  and  the  voice  began  to  sing. 

"No,  no,  my  dear, 

I  do  not  fear 
The  devastating  snow-ball ; 

When  it  strikes  me, 

I  shriek  with  glee, 
And  eat  it  like  a  dough-ball." 

"Halt!"  cried  the  ice-guards.    "Who  are  you?" 
"I  am  a  haunted  overshoe,"  replied  the  voice. 
"  I  am  on  the  foot  of  a  phantom  which  only   ap- 
pears at  uncertain  hours,  and  is  consequently 
now  invisible  to  you. 

u  And,  so  I  say, 
Oh,  fire  away, 
I  fear  ye  not,  icicles  ; 
Howe'er  ye  shoot, 
I  can't  but  hoot, 
Your  act  so  greatly  tickles, " 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  FROSTLAND.          191 

"Shall  we  let  it  through?"  asked  the  Captain 
of  the  guards. 

"I  mo  ye  we  do,"  said  one  High  Private. 

"I  move  we  don't,"  said  another. 

"All  in  favor  of  doing  one  thing  or  the  other 
say  aye,"  cried  the  Captain. 


"HALT!"  CRIED  THE  ICE-GUARDS. 

"Aye!"  roared  the  company. 
"Contrary-minded,    no,"   added  the    Captain. 
"No!"  roared  the  company. 
"Both  motions  are  carried,"  said  the  Captain. 
"We  will  now  adjourn  for  luncheon," 


192          HALF-HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

The  overshoe,  meanwhile,  had  floated  on  down 
through  the  gates  and  was  now  out  of  the  guards' 
sight  and  Jimmieboy  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
looked  about  him  once  more,  and  what  he  saw 
was  so  beautiful  that  he  sat  speechless  with  de- 
light. He  was  now  in  the  heart  of  Frostland,  and 
before  him  loomed  the  Palace,  a  marvelously 
massive  pile  of  richly  carven  ice-blocks  trans- 
parent as  glass ;  and  within,  seated  upon  a  throne 
of  surpassing  brilliance  and  beauty,  sat  King 
Jack  surrounded  by  his  courtiers,  who  were  sing- 
ing songs  the  like  of  which  Jimmieboy  never  be- 
fore had  heard. 

"Now  remember,  Jimmieboy,"  said  the  voice, 
as  the  overshoe  with  its  passengers  floated  softly 
up  to  the  huge  snow-pier  that  ran  out  into  the 
river  at  this  point  where  they  disembarked— 
"remember  I  am  to  do  all  the  talking.  Other- 
wise you  might  get  into  trouble." 

"All  right,  Voicy,"  began  Jimmieboy,  and  then 
there  came  a  terrific  shout  from  within. 

"Who  comes  here!"  cried  King  Jack,  rising 
from  his  throne  and  pointing  his  finger  at  Jim- 
mieboy. 

"  I  am  a  traveling  minstrel,"  Jimmieboy  seemed 
to  reply  though  in  reality  it  was  the  kind- 
hearted  voice  that  said  it,  "And  I  have  come  a 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  FROSTLAND. 


193 


thousand  and  six  miles,  eight  blocks,  fourteen 
feet,  six  inches  to  recite  to  your  Majesty  a  poem 
I  have  written  in  honor  of  your  approaching 
Jubilee." 

"Have  I  a  Jubilee  approaching?"  roared  Jack, 
turning  to  his  Secretary  of  State,  who  was  so 
startled  that  his  right  arm  melted. 


"  WHO  COMES  HERE  1" 

"  Y— yes,  your  Majesty,"  stammered  the  Secre- 
tary, with  a  low  bow.  "  It  is  coming  along  at  the 
rate  of  sixty  seconds  a  minute." 

« "Why  have  I  not  been  informed  of  this  be- 
fore?" roared  Jack,  casting  a  glance  at  the 
cowering  Secretary  that  withered  the  nose 


194         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

straight  off  his  face.  "Don't  you  know  that 
Jubilees  are  useful  to  a  man  only  because  other 
people  give  him  presents  in  honor  of  the  event? 
And  here  you've  kept  me  in  ignorance  of  the 
fact  all  this  time,  and  the  chances  are  I  won't 
get  a  thing— for  I've  neglected  my  relatives 
dreadfully." 

"Sire,"  pleaded  the  Secretary,  "all  that  you 
say  is  true,  but  I  have  attended  to  all  that.  I 
have  informed  your  friends  that  the  Jubilee  is 
coming,  and  they  are  all  preparing  pleasant 
little  surprises  for  you.  We  are  going  to  give 
your  Majesty  a  surprise  party,  which  is  the  finest 
kind  of  a  party,  because  you  don't  have  to  go 
home  after  it  is  over,  and  the  guests  bring  their 
own  fried  oysters,  and  pay  all  the  bills." 

"Ah!"  said  Jack,  melting  a  little.  "You  are 
a  good  man,  after  all.  I  will  raise  your  salary, 
and  send  your  children  a  skating-pond  on  Christ- 
mas day;  but  when  is  this  Jubilee  to  take 
place?" 

"In  eight  hundred  and  forty-seven  years,"  re- 
turned, the  voice,  who  did  not  like  the  Secretary 
of  State,  ani  wanted  to  get  him  in  trouble. 
"  On  the  eighty-second  day  of  July. " 

"  What — a — af?"  roared  the  King,  glaring  at 
the  Secretary. 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  FROSTLAND.  195 

"I  didn't  say  a  word,  sire,"  cried  the  unfortun- 
ate Secretary. 

"No?"  sneered  Jack.  "I  suppose  it  was  I  that 
answered  my  own  question, 'eh?  That  settles 
you.  The  idea  of  my  waiting  eight  hundred  and 
forty-seven  years  for  a  Jubilee  that,  is  to  take 
place  on  an  impossible  date !  Executioner,  take 
the  Secretary  of  State  out  to  the  furnace-room, 
and  compel  him  to  sit  before  the  fire  until  there's 
only  enough  of  him  left  to  make  one  snowball. 
Then  take  that  and  throw  it  at  the  most  decrepit 
hack-driver  in  my  domain.  The  humiliation  of 
this  delayer  of  Jubilees  must  be  complete." 

The  Secretary  of  State  was  then  led  weeping 
away,  and  Jack,  turning  to  the  awed  Jimmie- 
boy, shouted  out : 

"  Now  for  the  minstrel.  If  the  poem  pleaseth 
our  Royal  Coolness,  the  singer  shall  have  the 
position  made  vacant  by  that  unfortunate  snow- 
drift I  have  just  degraded.  Step  right  up,  young 
fellow,  and  turn  on  the  poem." 

"  Step  up  to  the  foot  of  the  throne  and  make  a 
bow,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me,']  whispered  the 
voice  to  Jimmieboy.  •  "All  you've  got  to  do  is  to 
move  your  lips  and  wave  your  arms.  I'll  do  the 
talking." 
.  Jimmieboy  did  as  he  was  bade.  He  took  up  his 


196          HALF- HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y. 

stand  before  the  throne,  bowed,  and  the  voice 
began  to  declaim  as  Jimmieboy's  lips  moved,  and 
his  arms  began  to  shoot  out,  first  to  the  left  and 
then  to  the  right. 

"This  poem,"  said  the  voice,  "is  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Snortuguese,  and  has  been  pre- 
pared at  great  expense  for  this  occasion,  four- 
teen gallons  of  ink  having  been  consumed  on  the 
first  stanza  alone,  which  runs  as  follows: 

"Jack  Frigidos, 
Jack  Frigidos, 
Oh,  what  a  trope  you  are  ! 
How  you  do  shine 
And  ghibeline, 
*  And  conjugate  afar  !" 

"It  begins  very  well,  oh,  minstrel!"  said  Jack, 
with  an  approving  nod.  "The  ink  was  well  ex- 
pended. Mount  thee  yon  table,  and  from  thence 
deliver  thyself  of  the  remnant  of  thy  rhyme." 

"Thanks,"  returned  the  voice;  "I  will." 

"  Get  up  on  the  table,  Jimmieboy,"  the  voice 
added,  "and  we'll  finish  'em  off  there.  Be  a 
little  slow  about  it,  for  I've  got  to  have  time  to 
compose  the  rest  of  the  poem." 

So  Jimmieboy  clambered  up  the  leg  of  the 
table,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  ready  for  the 
voice  to  begin,  which  the  voice  proceeded  to  do. 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  FRO  STL  AND.         197 

"  I  will  repeat  the  first  verse,  your  Majesty,  for 
the  sake  of  completeness.     And  here  goes: 

"Jack  Frigidos, 

Jack  Frigidos, 
Oh,  what  a  trope  you  are ! 

How  you  do  shine, 

And  ghibeline, 
And  conjugate  afar ! 

"How  debonair 

Is  thy  back  hair  ; 
Thy  smile  how  contraband  ! 

Would  I  could  ape 

Thy  shapely  shape, 
And  arrogate  thy  hand  ! 

"That  nose  of  thine, 

How  superfine ! 
How  pertinent  thy  chin. 

How  manifest 

The  palimpsest 
And  contour  of  thy  shin  ! 

"  How  ormolu 

Thy  revenue ! 
How  dusk  thy  silhouette  ! 

How  myrtilly 

Thy  pedigree 
Doth  grace  thine  amulet ! 

"What  man  is  there, 

Ay,  any  were, 
What  mortal  chanticleer, 


198          HALP-HO  URS  WITH  JIMMIEBO  Y 

Can  fail  to  find 

Unto  his  mind 

Thy  buxom  bandolier  ! 

u  Ah,  Frigidos  ! 

Jack  Frigidos, 
In  parcel  or  in  keg, 

Another  like 

Thee  none  can  strike 
From  Dan  to  Winnipeg." 

Here  the  voice  paused. 

"Is  that  all?"  queried  Jack  Frost. 

"It  is  all  I  have  written  up  to  this  moment/' 
the  voice  answered.  "Of  course  there  are 
seventy  or  eighty  more  miles  of  it,  because,  as 
your  Majesty  is  well  aware,  it  would  take  many 
a  league  of  poetry  fitly  to  commemorate  your 
virtues." 

"Your  answer  is  pleasing  unto  me,"  replied 
the  monarch  of  Frostlaiid,  when  the  voice  had 
thus  spoken.  "The  office  of  the  Secretary  of 
State  is  yours.  The  salary  is  not  large,  but  the 
duties  are.  They  are  to  consist  mainly  of— 

Here  the  King  was  interrupted  by  a  tremen- 
dous noise  without.  Evidently  some  one  was 
creating  a  disturbance,  and  as  Jimmieboy  turned 
to  see  what  it  was,  he  saw  the  great  ice  moun- 
tain looming  up  over  the  far-distant  horizon 
melt  slowly  away  and  dwindle  out  of  sight;  and 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  FROSTLAND.          199 

then  messengers,  breathless  with  haste,   rushed 
in  and  cried  out  to  the  King : 

"  We  are  attacked !  we  are  attacked !  A  tribe 
from  a  far  country,  commanded  by  the  Gas 
Stove,  is  even  now  within  our  boundaries,  armed 
with  a  devastating  hose,  breathing  forth  fire,  by 
which  already  has  been  destroyed  the  whole 
western  frontier. " 


THE  GAS-STOVE  -DESTROYING 


"What  is  to  be  done?"  cried  Jack,  in  alarm, 
and  springing  to  his  feet.  "Can  we  not  send  a 
regiment  of  cold  winds  out  against  them,  and 
freeze  them  to  their  very  marrows  and  blow  out 
the  gas?" 

"We  cannot,  sire,"  returned  the  messenger, 
"for  the  heat  is  so  deadly  that  the  winds  them- 
selves thaw  into  balmy  zephyrs  before  they 
reach  the  enemy." 


200         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Not  so!"  cried  the  voice  from  Jimmieboy's 
lips.  "  For  I  will  save  you  if  you  will  place  the 
matter  in  my  hands." 

"Noble  creature!"  sobbed  Jack,  grasping  Jim- 
mieboy  by  the  hand.  "  Save  my  kingdom  from 
destruction,  and  all  that  }'ou  ask  of  me  in  the 
future  is  yours." 

And  Jimmieboy,  promising  to  help  Jack, 
started  out,  clad  with  all  the  authority  of  his 
high  office,  to  meet  the  Gas  Stove. 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY.  201 


XVI. 

THE    END   OF   THE   STORY. 

AS  Jimmieboy  proceeded  along  the  icy  road 
he  observed  that  everything  was  beginning 
to  thaw,  and  then,  peering  as  far  into  the  dis- 
tance as  he  could,  he  saw  a  great  flame  burning 
fiercely  and  scorching  everything  with  which  it 
came  in  contact.  It  was  quite  evident  that  the 
Gas  Stove  had  brought  with  him  the  most  effec- 
tive ammunition  possible  for  his  purposes. 

"I  don't  see. exactly  how  he  does  it,"  said  the 
newly  appointed  Secretary  of  State,  as  he  ran 
hurriedly  toward  the  devastating  fire. 

"Easy  enough,"  returned  the  voice.  "He  has 
brought  along  a  large  quantity  of  gas  and  a  gar- 
den hose,  and  he  has  turned  on  the  gas  just  as 
you  would  turn  on  water,  lit  it,  and  there  you 
are.  There  is  absolutely  no  withstanding  him, 


202         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

and  unless  he  can  be  induced  to  stop  very 
shortly,  he'll  destroy  this  whole  kingdom,  and 
we'll  have  nothing  but  a  desert  ocean;  and  I 
can  tell  you,  Jimmieboy,  a  desert  ocean  where 
there  is  nothing  but  water  is  worse  than  a  desert 
desert  where  there  is  nothing  but  sand." 

*'It  seems  almost  a  pity  to  destroy  such  a 
beautiful  place  as  this,"  said  Jimmieboy,  looking 
about  him,  taking  note  of  the  great  tall  ice- 
covered  trees  and  the  frost  flowers  and  grasses 
at  the  road-side.  "  But,  you  know,  Jack  Frost  bit 
my  little  brother,  which  was  very  cowardly  of 
him,  and  that's  why  the  Gas  Stove  and  I  have 
come  here  to  fight." 

"I  think  you  are  wrong  there,"  said  the  voice. 
"  I  don't  believe  Jack  any  more  than  kissed  him ; 
but  if  he  did  bite  him,  it  was  because  he  loved 
him." 

Jimmieboy  had  never  thought  of  it  in  that 
light  before.  .All  he  knew  was  that  whatever 
Jack  Frost  had  done,  it  had  brought  tears  to  lit- 
tle Russ's  eyes  and  woe  to  his  heart. 

"  It's  rather  a  funny  way  to  show  love  to  bite 
a  person."  said  Jimmieboy. 

"Just  let  me  ask  you  a  few  questions," 
said  the  voice.  "Do  you  like  cherries  and 
peaches?" 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY.  203 

"Oh,  don't  I!"  cried  Jimmieboy,  smacking  his 
lips.     "  I  just  dote  on  'em !" 
"Then,"  said  the  voice, 

"Why  do  you  bite  the  cherry  sweet? 
Why  in  the  peach  do  your  teeth  meet?" 

"Hever  thought  of  it  that  way,"  said  Jimmie- 
boy. 

"I  suppose  not,"  returned  the  voice.  "  Are  you 
fond  of  apples  and  gingerbread" 

"Well,  rather!"  ejaculated  Jimmieboy. 

"Then  tell  me  this,"  asked  the  voice: 

"Why-do you  gnaw  the  apple  red? 
Why  do  you  chew  your  gingerbread  ?" 

"Because  I  like  'em,"  returned  Jimmieboy. 

"Why  do  you  crunch  your  taffy  brown? 
Why  do  you  nibble  your  jumble  down  ? 
Why  do  you  munch  your  candy  ball? 
Why  do  you  chew  at  all — at  all?" 

continued  the  voice. 

"To  make  things  last  longer.  'Tain't  proper  to 
gulp  'em  all  down  at  once,"  answered  Jimmie- 
boy. 

"And  that's  why  Jack  Frost  bit  little  Russ," 
asserted  the  voice.  "In  the  first  place,  he  loved 
him.  Little  Russ  was  to  him  as  sweet  as  a 
cherry  is  to  you.  In  the  second  place,  he  took  a 


204          HALF- HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

little  wee  bite,  because  it  wasn't  proper  to  gulp 
him  all  down.  To-morrow  that  bite  spot  will  be 
well,  and  little  Russ  will  be  none  the  worst  for 
it.  Now  I  don't  see  why  you  should  want  to 
ruin  all  this  beautiful  country  just  for  that.  It 
isn't  a  crime  to  love  babies  or  to  eat  cherries." 

"That's  so,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "But  Jack  Frost 
has  done  other  things.  He  killed  a  lot  of  mam- 
ma's flowers." 

"No,  he  didn't."  returned  the  voice.  "Your 
mamma  left  'em  out-doors  all  night,  and  Jack 
came  along  and  did  just  what  the  bees  do.  He 
took  all  the  sweetness  he  could  find  out  of  'em, 
and  brought  them  here,  where  he  planted  them 
and  made  them  appear  like  flowers  of  silver. 
You  see  what  the  heat  down  there  is  doing?" 

Jimmieboy  looked,  and  saw  the  icy  covering 
melting  off  the  flowers  and  trees,  and  as  the  sil- 
ver coating  fell  away  they  would  wave  softly  in 
the  balmy  air  for  a  moment,  and  then  wither 
and  crumble  away. 

"  Isn't  that  too  bad  ?"  he  said. 

"It  is,  indeed,"  replied  the  voice.  "Those 
flowers  and  trees  would  have  stood  and  lived 
on  forever  in  their  ice  coats — ever  fresh,  ever 
happy.  The  warmth  from  the  invader's  fire 
gives  them  one  glad  mad  moment  of  ecstasy, 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY.  205 

and  then  they  wither  away,  and  are  lost  forever. 
Is  that  worth  while,  my  boy?" 

The  voice  quivered  a  little  as  it  uttered  these 
words,  and  Jimmieboy  felt  tears  rising  in  is  own 
eyes  too.  Jack  Frost  was  not  so  bad  a  fellow, 
after  all,  as  he  had  been  made  out. 

"But  he  made  our  hired  mairs  back  ache  when 
he  went  to  dig  some  holes  for  the  fence  posts," 
said  Jimmieboy,  who  now  felt  that  he  should 
have  some  excuse  for  his  presence  in  Frostland, 
and  on  a  mission  of  destruction.  "  Was  that  right 
of  him?" 

"Even  if  it  was  his  fault,  it  was  right,"  said 
the  voice.  "I  don't  believe  it  was  his  fault, 
though.  Hired  men  have  a  way  of  having  back- 
ache when  there's  lots  to  do.  But  supposing  Jack 
did  give  it  to  him.  That  hired  man  was  taking  a 
spade  and  scarring  Mother  Earth  with  its  sharp 
edge.  Jack  Frost  gets  all  that  he  has  from 
Mother  Earth.  She  has  given  him  work  to  do- 
work  that  has  made  him  what  he  is— and  it  was 
his  duty  to  protect  her." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  Jimmie- 
boy, beginning  to  sob.  "  I  came  here  for  revenge, 
and  I  don't  think— 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  for  you  to  do,  be  true  to 
those  who  trust  you,"  said  the  voice.  "Now 


206          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

who  trusts  you?  Your  nurse  doesn't— she 
wouldn't  let  you  out  of  her  sight.  Your  papa  be- 
lieves in  you,  but  he  never  would  have  intrusted 
such  a  mission  as  this  to  your  hands;  nor  would 
your  mamma  or  little  Russ.  On  the  other  hand, 
Jack  Frost  has  made  3rou  Secretary  of  State,  and 
you  promised  to  help  him  in  this  dreadful  trial — 
he  trusts  you.  As  the  poem  says, 

"E'en  though  it's  sure  to  take  and  bust  you, 
Be  ever  true  to  them  that  trust  you." 

"I'll  save  them,"  said  Jimmieboy.  And  then 
he  started  off  on  a  run  down  the  road,  and  ere 
long  stood  face  to  face  with  the  Gas  Stove.  The 
latter  immediately  threw  down  his  hose,  turned 
off  the  gas,  and  clasped  Jimmieboy  to  his  heart. 

"Saved!  Saved!"  he  cried.  "I  have  found  you 
at  last.  Dear  me,  how  anxious  I  have  been  about 
you!"  And  then  he  burst  out  in  song: 

"But  now,  O  joy? 

My.averdupoy 
Will  steadily  increase  ; 
For,  now  you're  back, 
My  woes  will  pack 
Their  clothes  in  their  valise, 

"And  fly  afar, 

To  the  uttermost  star 
That  shines  up  in.  th'e. skies, 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY.  207 

While  you  and  I 
Will  warble  high 
The  gleesomest  of  cries. 

"We'll  sing  and  sing, 

And  warble  and  sing, 
And  warble,  and  sing,  and  sing, 

And  warble  and  sing, 

And  sing,  sing,  sing, 
And  warble  and  sing,  sing,  sing," 

"Come  off!"  ejaculated  the  voice.  "That's 
mighty  poor  poetry  for  a  Stove  that's  as  glad  as 
you  are." 

"Why,  Jimmieboy,  you  pain  me,"  said  the 
Gas  Stove,  who  thought  that  it  was  his  little 
friend  that  had  spoken,  "I  didn't  think  you 
would  criticize  my  song  of  happiness  that  way." 

"I  never  said  a  word,"  said  Jimmieboy.  "It 
was  my  friend  the  voice,  who  helped  me  when 
I  was  in  trouble,  and— 

"And  by  whose  efforts,"  interrupted  the  voice, 
"our  Jimmieboy  here  is  now  the  Right  Honor- 
able Jamesboy,  Secretary  of  State  to  his  Majesty 
the  Emperor  of  Frostland.  Prince  of  Iceberg, 
Marquis  Thawberry,  and  Chief  Ice-cream 
Freezer  to  all  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa,  Austrilia  and  New  Jersey.  I'd  advise 
you  to  take  off  your  hat,  Mr.  Stove,  for  you  are 
in  the  presence  of  a  great  man." 


208         HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"No,  no,"  cried  Jimmieboy,  as  the  Gas  Stove 
doffed  his  iron  lid;  " don't  take  off  your  hat  to 
me,  Stovey.  1  am  all  that  he  says,  but  I  am  still 
Jimmieboy,  and  your  friend." 

"But  what  becomes  of  your  war?"  queried  the 
Gas  Stov6,  ruefully.  "I  can't  fight  against  you, 
and  you  are  a  part  of  the  government." 

"That's  a  very  sensible  conclusion,"  said  the 
voice.  "  Only  I  wouldn't  let  King  Jack  know 
that,  or  he  wouldn't  ever  let  Jimmieboy  go  away 
from  here.  What  you  want  to  do  is  to  make 
terms  that  will  be  satisfactory  to  both  parties, 
get  Jack  Frost  to  agree  to  'em,  and  there  you 
are.  If  he  won't  agree,  the  Gas  Stove  will  have 
to  go  on  with  the  war  until  he  does  agree." 

"That's  the  thing  to  do,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
Stove.  "What  shall  I  insist  upon,  Mr.  Secre- 
tary" 

"Well,  I  think  Jack  ought  to  quit  biting 
babies,  no  matter  if  he  does  love  'em,"  said  Jim- 
mieboy. 

"I  insist  upon  it,"  said  the  Gas  Stove,  firmly. 

"I  think,  too,"  said  Jimmieboy,  "that  he  ought 
not  to  run  off  with  so  many  flowers." 

"If  you  do  not  agree  to  that,  Mr.  Secretary," 
returned  the  Stove,  "  I  shall  turn  on  my  canned 
devastation  again." 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY.  209 

"I  shall  endeavor  to  secure  the  King's  con- 
sent," replied  Jimmieboy.  "And,  furthermore, 
he  must  keep  away  from  the  water-pipes  in  my 
papa's  house.  He  froze  'em  all  up  last  winter." 

"That  is  my  ultimatum,"  said  the  Stove. 

"Your  what?"  queried  Jimmieboy. 

"My  last  word,"  explained  the  Stove. 

"It's  long  enough  to  have  been  a  half-dozen  of 
your  last  words,"  laughed  the  voice.  "But  is 
that  all  you're  to  agree  upon?" 

"  I  don't  know  of  anything  more,"  said  Jimmie- 
boy. 

"Nor  I,"  said  the  Stove. 

"You're  a  mean  couple,"  ejaculated  the  voice, 
angrily.  "If  I  had  my  way,  you'd  do  something 
for  one  who  has  served  you  when  you  were  in 
trouble,"  he  added,  addressing  Jimmieboy. 
"Where  would  you  have  been  if  it  hadn't  been 
for — for— well,  for  a  friend  of  mine?" 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  mean,"  said  Jimmieboy. 

"He  wants  something  for  himself,"  whispered 
the  Gas  Stove,  "and  he  is  right." 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  who  I  mean,  eh?"  sneered 
the  voice.  And  then  he  added  : 

"Who  saved  you  from  the  icy  sea. 
And  brought  you  through  S-A-F-E  ? 
Why,  ME ! 


210          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Who  thought  about  that  jubilee, 
And  filled  Jack  Frost  chock  up  with  glee? 

Why,  ME  ! 

"  Who  all  your  goings  did  o'ersee, 
And  got  this  lofty  place  for  thee  ? 
Why,  ME! 

"That's  who.    Now   what  are  you  going  to 
about  it?" 


CMS. 
THE  GAS-STOVE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  KING. 

"He's  going  back  to  Jack  Frost,"  said  the  Gas 
Stove,  "and  he  is  going  to  demand  that  you  shall 
be  made  Secretary  of  State  in  his  place,  and  he 
is  going  to  tell  Jack  that  if  he  ever  removes  you 
from  that  position  I  shall  return  and  destroy  the 
country." 

"You  are  very  moderate  in  your  demands," 
said  the  voice.  "  I  think  King  Jack  will  be  very 
foolish  if  he  refuses  to  acceede  to  them,  particu- 
larly that  one  having  reference  to  myself,  I  do 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY. 


211 


not  care  for  the  office,  of  course,  but  since  there 
seems  to  be  a  demand  for  me,  I  shall  accept." 

So  Jimmieboy,  followed  by  the  Gas  Stove  and 
the  voice,  returned  to  the  palace,  and  the  de- 
mands of  the  Stove  were  laid  before  the  monarch. 

"I'll  agree  to  'em  all  gladly,"  said  he,  "save 


THE  GAS-STOVE  BURNING  MERRILY  AND  WINKING  AT  HIM 
FROM  THE  FIREPLACE. 

that  which  forces  me  to  deprive  myself  of  your 
valuable  services.  Was  he  quite  firm  about  that?" 

"He  was!"  shouted  the  voice,  before  Jimmie- 
boy could  speak. 

Here  somebody  else  in  the  distance  seemed 
to  call:  "Jimmieboy!  Hi!  Jimmieboy!" 


212          HALF-HOURS  WITH  JIMMIEBOY. 

"Shall  I  accede  or  stand  by  you?"  asked  Jack, 
taking  Jimmieboy  by  the  hand. 

"  You'd  better  accede,"  said  Jimmieboy,  looking 
around  to  see  who  was  calling  him,  "  for  I  have 
just  heard  some  one  calling  me — my  papa,  I 
think— and  I  guess  it's  time  for  me  to  get  up." 

What  Jack's  response  to  this  curious  remark 
would  have  been  no  one  knows,  for  just  then  a 
most  strange  thing  took  place.  Jack  Frost  and 
his  palace  in  an  instant  faded  completely  from 
view,  and  Jimmieboy  in  surprise  closed  his  eyes, 
rubbed  them  with  both  his  fists,  and  then  opened 
them  again,  to  find  himself  in  his  little  cot  in  the 
nursery,  the  gas-stove  burning  merrily  and 
winking  at  him  from  the  fireplace,  and  the 
friendly  voice,  as  usual,  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
and  now  not  even  to  be  heard. 

No  sole  remnant  of  the  frozen  country  re- 
mained, save  a  few  beautiful  frcst  pictures  on 
the  windows,  which,  it  seemed  to  Jimmieboy, 
Jack  had  left  there  in  remembrance  of  the  ser- 
vices Jimmieboy  had  done  him ;  and  as  for  the 
frost  kiss  on  little  Russ's  chin,  it  had  become 
as  invisible  as  that  far  sweeter  kiss  that  mam- 
ma had  placed  upon  that  very  same  spot  when 
she  first  discovered  what  Jack  had  done. 

(THE  END.) 


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